


Kinktober 2020

by newbandnamethx



Series: Events/Exchanges/Gifts [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blow Jobs, Bodyswap, Bondage, Breeding Kink, Collars, Come Eating, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Deep Throating, Double Anal Penetration, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Double Vaginal Penetration, Dubious Consent, Eiffel Tower, Femdom, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Free Use, Fucking Machines, Gangbang, Ghost Sex, Group Sex, Hate Sex, Humiliation, Knotting, Large Cock, M/M, Macro/Micro, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Public Sex, Riding, Rough Sex, Sexual Coercion, Size Difference, Telepathic Bond, Vaginal Fingering, Valve Oral (Transformers), Vampires, gestalt shenanigans ig, idfk, kinda its more just mags projecting his irritation at roddy onto megs bc megs is into it, thunderclash offers and rodimus goes "mlem"
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:00:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 51,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26827753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newbandnamethx/pseuds/newbandnamethx
Summary: HEY!It's spoopy time! So I'm here to get my kicks via the kinks. Every pairing tagged has at least one chapter centered on them + a kink. Chapters may get reordered, heads up.
Relationships: Air Raid/Fireflight/Silverbolt/Skydive/Slingshot (Transformers), Blades/First Aid/Groove/Hot Spot/Streetwise (Transformers), Brainstorm/Perceptor (Transformers), Bumblebee/Starscream (Transformers), Cyclonus/Tailgate (Transformers), Drift | Deadlock/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime, First Aid/Vortex, Jetfire | Skyfire/Skywarp/Starscream/Thundercracker (Transformers), Lockdown/Swindle (Transformers), Megatron/Ultra Magnus, Ratchet/Rung (Transformers), Rodimus | Rodimus Prime/Thunderclash, Skyfire/Starscream (Transformers), Skywarp/Air Force, Starscream/Windblade (Transformers), censere/cyclonus
Series: Events/Exchanges/Gifts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2160420
Comments: 61
Kudos: 211
Collections: Kinktober 2020





	1. Day 1- Bodyswap Bumblebee/Starscream

**Author's Note:**

> Featured in this fic, my hc that Starscream would be incredibly shy to call Skyfire his conjunx bc decepticon sponsored emotional constipation idk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might be extremely confusing, I'm sorry, writing bodyswap is weird. I tried to make it clear who is who but eh....

Starscream was staring up at his own frame with a mix of wonder and horror on his face as his own visage looked down at him with confusion and amusement uncharacteristically plain on his face. Eerie, he didn't even think his lips could manage to pull off a smile that looked sincere, but Bee was managing it.

“Wow I really do look small from your perspective, guess I understand why it’s so easy for you to talk down to everyone now,” his voice sounded light and teasing in a way it never had when he was in control of his own frame. It was still plenty grating, and Bee seemed to silently comment on that as he rubbed at his vocalizer.

“Oh this feels, oh,” Bee tried to reset his vocalizer. It didn’t do much to erase the weird scratchy static feeling coming from his throat.

“Long term injuries tend to be like that,” Starscream huffed, trying to not feel a slight sting of hurt. He didn’t exactly mind his bashed vocalizer, one learned to live with it after a time. There was probably only one medic in the entire galaxy he trusted enough to let near his throat to fix it, and he’d most likely already died on the Lost Light. 

But sometimes, when talking with Bee, especially now that they’d become unprecedentedly close, he struggled with the fact his vocalizer sometimes didn’t seem to fit the emotions he wanted. His voice essentially didn’t do tender or sympathetic, and maybe that ate at him a little. 

He hadn’t cared all those years in the Decepticons, but now? A part of him wanted to be able to express the parts of himself that had never been prudent in the Decepticons. A part of him wanted to learn to do tender, to do soft and emotional. To be able to return the sincerity Bee gave to him.

He started down listlessly at his small black servos, clenching and unclenching them slowly. Vocalizer aside, he felt weird. He had no wings for one, and his body was so small and compact he felt like he could move with much less calculation and need for spatial awareness. It was freeing in some ways, constricting in others.

“Starscream?” His own voice was prodding at his conscious as his face lowered to peer at him.

“Hmm?” He hummed absentmindedly, enjoying the sound of Bee’s voice fitting his own words. Now that they were mostly done yelling at each other day in and day out, he liked to hear Bumblebee talk, quite a bit actually. “Your frame is weird, Bee.”

“Again, Wheeljack said he could probably get things right again by tomorrow, but until then,” Bee shrugged, an odd gesture in Starscream’s own bulky frame, and then looked at Starscream slyly. “You want to see what it’s like from my end when we ‘face?”

Starscream snorted dismissively, “I’ve spiked and taken it in the valve, how different could it be-.”

“It’s different, trust me,” Bee cut him off, looking down at him, that same expression of amusement still plastered all across his face.

“Well if we’re going to be trading unique frame experiences you should let me touch my wings,” Starscream shuffled up closer to his frame looking at his own wings with keen interest. Bee was fairly adept at touching his wings, his fingers were small and dextrous and got in his seams in ways that made his whole frame tingle. Bee also genuinely cared about reciprocating pleasure, so over time his skills had only improved, and he listened to Starscream when he reacted to his touch, learning like from dislike and applying that knowledge. 

It was still quite a novel thing for him, having a lover that enjoyed mutual pleasure over some borderline sadistic show of dominance. Not to say all Decepticons were like that, Starscream in particular just had a habit of choosing unwisely.

“I want to show you what it feels like, then you can spike me,” Starscream said, voice coming out softer than he intended it to, with the slightest breathy note to it. He’d honestly forgotten what it was like to have a fully functioning vocalizer and he was finding it hard to mask the sincerity of his tone as he spoke. His glitched vocalizer had a habit of masking his emotions by default and Starscream was long accustomed to using that to his advantage, so much so that speaking now left him feeling oddly vulnerable.

“Alright,” Bee said, shifting his frame as he turned around. Starscream nimbly tucked and rolled under a wing as it came swinging around. 

“Bee, watch the wings,” he reprimanded a bit testily. He wasn’t in the mood to buff dents out of his wings once they were returned to normal.

“Right, sorry,” Bumblebee responded a bit sheepishly. “They’re so big and bulky, I don’t know how you can stand this all day long.”

“Tuck your wings down, no, down,” Starscream watched the wings flick down jerkily. “Good.” He tucked his digits into a seam he knew had some gravel in it from an earlier flight through a rather dusty part of Metroplex. 

“This is one of the heavier frames I’ve had, the lighter frames are a bit easier to handle as far as the space they take up,” Starscream explained as he dug a digit into a seam, knocking loose some dirt. The metal under him shuddered as he did so. “So? How does it feel?”

“Weird? Tingly? Not in a bad way, it’s nice,” Bee said. “I’ve always wondered, is this a flight frame thing, or just a seeker thing?”

Starscream hummed, “Wing grooming? It’s a personal preference thing, though I suppose frame to frame contact is more common among flight frames, mostly because wing maintenance can be so finicky and difficult by oneself, and also flight frames just seem to gravitate towards compact units. I still know a few fliers who would break your digit off if you tried to shove one in their wing seams. Knew a few ‘Cons who used rebar and the like to clean their wings, probably did them more harm than good in the long run, but no one ever said fliers like Astrotrain were smart.”

Bee was oddly quiet as he worked and talked and though the juddering of his wings had calmed, the occasional tremor rocked his frame. Starscream tried to lean around a sizable wing as he asked, “Bee? Are you alright?”

The responding answer was the soft click of an interface panel opening.

“Sorry did you say something? Took me forever to sort through your settings to figure out the manual command. Why do you have the autodeploy function off?” Bee huffed after a moment. 

“Force of habit, you’d not believe the amount of times Meg-” Starscream cut himself off abruptly. Bee was aware there was a subspace the size of a small galaxy’s worth of emotional baggage there and they’d not yet had The Talk where Starscream elaborated on his history with Megatron. He wasn’t sure if they ever would, close as they had become. If they ever did end up getting conjunxed, maybe it would come out there.

“Anyways,” Starscream picked up the uncomfortable silence on his own, “I suppose you’d like to spike me now.” Starscream crawled under the wing, edging himself closer so that he was sitting alongside his thigh, peering at his own spike. It certainly did look larger.

He really did seem to have trouble hiding his emotions more in Bumblebee’s own frame, Bee noted as he chuckled at Starscream’s impressed expression looking at his own spike.

“See, I told you, it’s going to be different,” Bumblebee smirked.

Bumblebee touched him intimately for really the first time since their swap, servo sliding against his own thigh as Starscream seemed to almost jolt out of his frame.

“Why do you have your sensitivity systems turned up so high, how is it even possible to have them this high?” Starscream shuddered as a servo glided towards his interface panel. Bee tilted his helm questioningly.

“I was actually going to ask you if yours were malfunctioning, they seem dull and like there's a system delay?” Bee said as he watched his own frame shudder as he trailed a digit around the seam of his interface panel.

“Ah well,” Starscream looked extremely uncomfortable. “Part of it might be a frame type difference.”

Bee knew that expression well enough to know Starscream was referencing the cold constructed vs forged difference as opposed to grounder vs flight frame.

“Hmm, well it honestly doesn’t feel that different,” he said, fudging the truth only a little bit because he didn’t particularly want to feed into Starscream’s already massive complex about his frame. They’d switch back and he’d be back in yet another frame by tomorrow if he wasn’t careful.

Starscream didn’t look like he fully believed him, but then Bee disrupted his train of thought by digging his fingers into the manual override seam for his panels, revealing his stout black and yellow spike to him, a sleek dribble of transfluid running down the side, as his own black valve sat, looking engorged and wet.

“Honestly,” Bee snorted. “I feel like I’m self servicing a bit here.”

“I feel like I’m getting fragged by a clone again,” Starscream muttered, eyeing his own spike warily.

“Again?”

“Long story, will that even fit?”

Bee rolled his optics, “It’s fit the thousand other times we fragged, again, it just will feel different for you.”

“Does it hurt for you?” Starscream’s front of bravery was rapidly crumbling as Bee maneuvered him closer pressing the heat of his spike against his own valve. Frag this was gonna be weird. Bumblebee had never fragged in front of a mirror before, so he guessed today was going to be his first time witnessing his own O face.

“It stretches and burns, but I like it. Of course it doesn’t really hurt, I’d tell you if that was the case, just like we agreed,” Bumblebee tried to say the words softly but found his voice got slightly scratchier as he did. Speaking with Starscream’s voice was starting to give him insight into how the other mech expressed himself, and a lot of small nuances and revelations were itching at the back of his mind to be sorted through later. For now he just wanted to make Starscream feel the way he felt so often when things were just between them.

“Just relax,” he tried to say soothingly as he edged his own frame onto his back, watching as blue optics shuttered closed and some of the anxious tension seemed to dissipate. 

“Are you alright?”

“Stop talking so much, I just want to pretend it’s our sizes that got swapped and you’re still you,” Starscream muttered rather sulkily.

“That’s flattering,” Bumblebee chuckled.

“I said, shut -UHP,” The last syllable came out in a strangled moan as Bee started to nudge his way into Starscream. Bumblebee paused for a moment, looking at Starscream questioningly but Starscream just motioned to him impatiently to keep going. 

Bee spent his time pressing in slowly, rubbing at his node to help Starscream relax so he could sink deeper until he was hilted fully in. Once there he paused for a moment, and instead watched his own face for signs of discomfort or displeasure. 

For the most part though, Starscream seemed to be enjoying himself, lips letting out soft pants as Bee rubbed his node slowly. Starscream had never felt so full, Bee’s valve appeared to be made of stretchier stuff than his own, and something about the fullness within him just felt right.

“Oh,” he sighed out in mild surprise, no better words or phrases coming to mind.

“Feels good?” Bee asked, looking down at him tenderly, a servo coming up to cup his face as another carefully shifted him a bit. 

“Yes,” he sighed out contentedly. And it did. Everything felt more intense, the stretch, the ache, the licks of pleasure as Bee ground into a node here or there.

“Good,” Bumblebee pressed a kiss onto his own lips. This was all admittedly very weird, but then again, what part of their relationship hadn’t been fraught with oddities?

They started up a slow pace, Bee rocking in as Starscream gasped and moaned under him. It was more noise than he had ever made before and despite the gasps and moans being in Bee’s own voice, knowing the pleasure belonged to Starscream spurred him on. Starscream himself for once didn’t mind making noise, it was Bee’s voice, and unlike his own, he liked hearing Bee when he was enjoying himself. As well as the fact that it just felt good. 

Everything was tight and hot, his frame seeming to run a bit warmer than Starscream’s own. Bumblebee placed his servos on his aft, holding Starscream steady as he worked him over.

It wasn’t long before Starscream was shuddering, on the brink of overload already. Bee slowed down a bit, wanting to stave off the overload, watch Starscream squirm on his spike a little longer.

“Bee?” He asked dazedly, before getting impatient and rocking down on his spike in a silent demand. Bee held his hips and relished in the realization that he was in control here. This time it was Starscream who had to obey his whims. Starscream who got to be manhandled. Starscream….

“What are you-,” Starscream started to complain again, but was cut off by a heated kiss from Bumblebee. Starscream felt himself being pushed back into the bed, the weight of his own frame pinning him there.

Bee started to thrust into him in earnest, and whatever indignant protest Starscream had died on his lips as he felt himself edging back towards an overload. He looked up, for a moment thinking he was going to see Bee looking back down at him lovingly, but instead he saw his own face.

Starscream quickly shut his optics and tried to focus on the feelings of pleasure spiking through his array. Bee shifted his angle and thrust into him, his spike dragging over a node that had Starscream near writhing on the bed, gasping out as he was held and pinned, while Bee dragged his spike over that node over and over again.

“Feels good, right there right? You do this to me all the time, now you get to feel it,” Bee murmured, and that time Starscream didn’t mind hearing his own voice. Its tone was so tender and gentle that it was unmistakably Bee speaking to him.

“Bee,” he let out a soft sigh and then he was overloading. A few moments later Bee overloaded as well and the jet of warmth filled his valve.

“Wow,” Starscream huffed as Bumblebee pulled out. "That was a lot messier than I’m used to. Guess I just have more transfluid by comparison, and you have less… space.”

Bee shrugged. “At least it’s easy to clean out.”

“Well,” Starscream sighed as he shuffled himself up and began to wipe at some of the sticky fluid starting to dry on his thighs, “Anything else you wanted to try before we get switched back to normal?”

Bee thought a moment, tapping his finger on his chin, before his face cracked into a broad, mischievous grin and Starscream found himself being swept up into big arms and cuddled against his own cockpit.

“Just this,” Bee smiled. Starscream couldn’t help but find Bee’s soft laughter contagious as he grinned quietly to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Days taken so far: 1-3,6-7,16,19,22, 27,29
> 
> tweet with prompts: https://twitter.com/newbandnamethx/status/1310968286973173764?s=20
> 
> Request on twitter or in comments!
> 
> keep in mind these prompts might be as short as 1k, I probably won't do them in order, and might not get em all done by end of oct, but I sure will try. But if I say I'll do it, I definitely will!


	2. Day 2- macro/micro Starscream/Skyfire

“Don’t be alarmed,” was what the comm from Skyfire read moments before a knock sounded at the door to his and Skyfire’s shared quarters.

One of the things that Starscream had expected defecting to the Autobots was the load of ridicule, catcalling, and a constant barrage of questions about his former station in the decepticons. 

How big was Megatron’s spike? He didn’t know.

What kind of experiments did Shockwave have ongoing? He didn’t know and he was extremely sure he didn’t want to know.

Where were they keeping the remaining POW’s? He knew the answer to that one but he was yet unsure if giving a response would get him shot, because “the bottom of a lake” was probably not the answer his new comrades wanted to hear.

What he had not expected during his tenure with the Autobots was to have an apologetic looking Wheeljack show up at his door, which immediately set off alarm bells. While Wheeljack was nice enough to him, Starscream was well aware it was most likely due to Skyfire being his… er. Due to them being close. But still, the mech was usually quite wary of him so him looking like he had something to be sorry about was immediately concerning in the nth degree.

“Hello Wheeljack,” he greeted, noting how the mech was holding his servos behind his back. “Is something the matter?” He was trying this new direct approach instead of speculating and deducing what others were feeling, he asked questions so that they could say things on their own. Skyfire said it would help other mecha not feel so intimidated or get the sense they were being interrogated by him. He thinks it’s half working. Maybe. He realizes he’s been staring listlessly at nothing for a few moments so he refocuses on Wheeljack. 

“Er, hello Starscream,” Wheeljack started nervously, and when he didn’t continue Starscream supposed he should ask another question.

“Did something happen in the labs?” he asked because that was his best guess, and honestly, between Wheeljack and Brainstorm, someone was sent to the medbay because of lab related hijinx at least once a month.

“Did Skyfire already tell you?” Wheeljack blurted, helm snapping up as his optics widened in startled surprise.

“I told you I didn’t,” came a faint but familiar voice from somewhere behind Wheeljack. Which was particularly strange considering there was no way in pit a mech the size of Wheeljack could obscure a frame like Skyfire’s.

“Wheeljack, where is my,” He still didn’t want to say the word. It was too fresh, too intimate. “Skyfire,” he finished lamely. “Have you turned him invisible again?”

A small sigh sounded from behind Wheeljack. “Just show him ‘Jack.”

Wheeljack closed his optics in resignation for a moment, then he opened them as he slowly brought out one servo to reveal Skyfire, considerably shorter than he had been the last time Starscream had seen him this morning. He was maybe a foot tall.

“He’s very small,” Starscream stated dumbly, shock washing over him in numbing waves, before neurotic concern and paranoia immediately kicked in like the Lost Light shifting gears to do a quantum jump. “Why is he so small? Is his spark alright like that?”

His voice was ticking up in pitch, he could tell by the way Wheeljack seemed to wince and resist the urge to cover his audials. 

If there was one thing Wheeljack had learned very quickly about Starscream it was that he seemed to have some sort of deep seated anxiety regarding Skyfire’s safety, which was understandable, what with him thinking Skyfire was dead for 4 million years and being able to move past that precisely not at all.

“Now Starscream Skyfire said you might panic a bit-,” he started, voice calm and soothing, the one servo not holding Skyfire raised up in a placating gesture.

“It is perfectly rational to be upset in a situation like this,” Starscream near shrieked, and then immediately lowered his voice as he noticed the tiny Skyfire wince. “Can I hold him?” was asked in a surprisingly timid tone.

Wheeljack looked to Skyfire, who nodded, and the toy sized shuttle was passed into Starscream’s waiting servos.

“We’ll have a solution by tomorrow, Brainstorm is working on it-,” Wheeljack began, observing how some of the stress immediately left Starscream’s frame as he looked down at his tiny conjux, gingerly extending a digit for Skyfire to grasp at in assurance, face softening a moment before the words sunk in and his expression soured.

“Oh Brainstorm, the epitome of competence and stability, that one?” Starscream snapped acidly with an optic roll. “Do tell, was he the one to cause this mess in the first place?”

Deafening silence told Starscream all he needed to know.

“Right,” he said rather testily as he turned to take him and his tiny shuttle into their quarters, slamming the door in Wheeljack’s face.

“Perceptor is working on it as well, Starscream,” Skyfire offered in the hopes that Starscream would cease looking so high strung at the news.

“I just don’t like it when you are in a dangerous situation,” Starscream muttered.

“Starscream you get shot at several times a week on flight patrols,” Skyfire said pointedly, rising to stand in Starscream’s palm and look at him with mild disapproval.

“It’s how decepticons greet their defectors,” Starscream snorted. “And they aren’t really trying to kill me, it’s all bluster.”

“Starscream,” Came the faint but chastising tone.

“Fine, fine, we’re both guilty on this front,” Starscream sighed. 

“You shouldn’t shoot the messenger either, Wheeljack was-.”

“I know, I know,” Starscream rubbed the bridge of his nose, “I’ll apologize to him tomorrow. After you’ve been fixed.” Skyfire looked like he wanted to say something further but decided against it.

“It’s been a long day, why don’t we just relax.”

“Already ahead of you,” Starscream sighed, carrying Skyfire over to their bed, and sitting down gently so as not to jostle the shuttle in his servo.

“You’re so small like this,” Starscream said, looking him over with mild wonder now that the initial shock of the revelation was wearing off and despite being tiny, Skyfire seemed to be fully functional.

“Well it was a shrink ray that Brainstorm was working on,” Skyfire mused. 

“Shrink ray, how trite,” Starscream muttered as he gingerly extended a digit towards one of Skyfire’s wings, pausing just before making contact, and looking imploringly at Skyfire, asking, “Can I?”

“Be my guest,” Skyfire nodded. “And the gun actually has a lot of applications, Brainstorm was trying to get it to only work on targeted matter so that it could be used in surgical settings like in the case of a blockage,” Skyfire began to monologue as Starscream pressed his digit into the wing and began to trail it around seams and creases that had long been too high up for him to reach unless he stood while Skyfire squatted.

“That is actually a useful application,” Starscream hummed, finding a particular little inlet that made the frame in his palm shudder almost imperceptibly. He absentmindedly abused that spot while he mulled over the concept behind Brainstorm’s invention.

“And you were involved how?”

“The gun,” Skyfire said distractedly as he tried to keep his thoughts coherent while Starscream’s digit rubbed over a wing tip. “I-it was set to work on an alloy that my frame contained because it was made for space f-flight. And B-brainstorm overlooked it,” he gave in to another full body shudder.

“So he shot the gun at you not expecting it to shrink you but it did? I’m guessing he’d tested it on Wheeljack or someone first and it worked fine,” Starscream continued on seeming not to notice how affected Skyfire was becoming under him. The conversation dribbled off into silence as Skyfire quickly became too overwhelmed by sensation to continue it and Starscream seemed content to just play with Skyfire’s wings while he sat in idle thought.

“Still, I’m sure when it’s finished Ratchet will-,” Starscream began again.

“Starscream-,” Starscream was staring too intently at Skyfire’s wings to really note the strangled quality to Skyfire’s voice as he continued to rub at his wings.

“Sorry is that uncomfortable? I just wanted to touch them, you’re so big I can’t reach when we ‘face,” Starscream murmured, scratching lightly at a wing with the tip of his digit.

There was a soft little “snick”, so soft that Starscream almost didn’t hear it, but he felt a very slight dampness in his palm and when he craned his helm around to look at Skyfire he saw a tiny spike protruding between Skyfire’s thighs.

“Oh,” he said, in amused shock. “I didn’t realize-.”

“Star,” Skyfire groaned, his servos clutching at the palm of Starscream’s servo. “I want to try something.”

“Don’t tell me,” Starscream laughed. “You want my digit inside you.”

Silence greeted him as Skyfire seemed to hunch in on himself, wings flicking down in embarrassment and shame.

“Oh Sky, I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t mocking you- I just didn’t think you’d like that,” Starscream very quickly found himself trying to pull a one eighty at the realization he’d just unintentionally mocked Skyfire for exactly what he wanted.

“I mean, we could try it” Starscream continued on, looking down at his, for once, very small, and very cute looking partner. “I wouldn’t mind as long as you want to.”

“I’m just so big,” Skyfire murmured so soft Starscream had to lean in to make sure he was catching all the words. “It’s been a while….”

Skyfire was one of those paradoxical mecha that had size and power and chose to be insecure about it. It was one of the things that Starscream found extremely endearing about him. But also, in a sense, he understood. There were expectations foisted onto him because of his frame and it was often difficult to avoid the shame of admitting to a desire outside of what was expected for one’s frame type.

“I get it, Sky,” Starscream soothed. “I think we’ll need lubricant for this though.”

Starscream puts, in Skyfire’s opinion, a frankly ridiculous amount of lube on his smallest digit. At the shuttle’s incredulous staring he asked, “What? I can’t exactly stretch you beforehand, we’ll just have to take this extremely slow.”

Skyfire snorted, “Starscream, I think I’ll be fine.”

“Look,” Starscream jabbed his lube coated pinky at Skyfire, smiling in amusement. “Just because you have never bottomed for someone, well, giant sized in comparison to your own frame, doesn’t mean that your calipers don’t ache and break the way everyone else's does. And I am not carrying you straight from the lab to the med bay and explaining to Ratchet how we managed to rupture shuttle grade calipers. I can practically feel him clocking me upside the helm already.”

“Fine, fine,” Skyfire said with a grin. “We’ll do it your way.”

“Of course we will,” Starscream said smugly, before prodding at Skyfire’s valve with his pinky. “How do you want this.”

“Hmm,” Skyfire mulled it over for a moment, before he flipped himself onto his servos and knees with his valve presented to Starscream. “This way.”

“Alright, if it hurts or you want to stop, just say the word,” Starscream said, voice growing husky as he looked at the tantalizing sight of Skyfire’s valve squeezing in anticipation in front of him.

“I got it Star, don’t worry,” Skyfire called, looking over his shoulder with a small, affirming smile.

Starscream lined his digit up and pushed in.They worked in silence for a bit, Starscream moving his digit in slow shallow thrusts. 

“That’s half,” he said, to which he felt a little squeeze from Skyfire’s valve and a moan of “Oh Primus.”

“Need me to stop?”

“I need a moment,” Skyfire’s frame was trembling all over and Starscream felt a jolt of worry go through him. 

“It doesn’t hurt does it?”

“Not in a way I dislike, it’s just a lot,” Skyfire said shakily. “Okay, you can keep going.”

“You sure?”

“Positive,” Skyfire said, throwing a shaky thumbs up. He then moved that servo down to work his spike as he felt the stretch build in his valve. Gradually the burn eased and Skyfire found himself bent over on his servos and knees, legs quivering as he rocked back on Starscream’s digit, which pushed in and out of him with wet little squelches. His wings flicked up and down in pleasure and Starscream couldn’t help but move his other servo to touch them, rubbing at them again in the spots he’d learned Skyfire had liked. 

This only served to wring another groan out of Skyfire.

Frustrated with his inability to see the shuttle’s face as it was dropped low in his arms while Starscream worked him from behind, Starscream eased out his digit, flipping Skyfire over to reveal an energon flushed face and a proudly extended spike, that at normal size was really quite intimidating. 

But right now, like the rest of Skyfire, it was really just quite cute. 

“Starscream?” Skyfire asked, half frustrated half confused.

“I just wanted to see you better,” Starscream murmured, easing his pinky digit back in and Skyfire’s confused look quickly melted back to wanton pleasure as Starscream thrust in slow and deep. He used his other servo to rub at Skyfire’s spike.

“Feel good?” he asked, to which Skyfire nodded vigorously. Starscream slowed his pace to a drag, feeling rather in the mood to tease Skyfire now that he was really at his mercy. “Ah, ah,” he tutted, “use your words.”

“Oh Primus,” Skyfire gasped. “Yes Star, feels so good. Haven’t felt like this in ages.”

“I’m glad,” Starscream purred. And he was, a part of him quietly preened that he was able to make Skyfire feel and look the way he often felt under the shuttle’s competent servos. “You make me feel like this all the time,” he admitted.

“Oh Star,” Skyfire groaned, and a tiny servo was clutching at his digit as the thumb rubbing Skyfire’s spike became wet with transfluid, and the tight heat around him squeezed ever tighter. Starscream eased himself out of Skyfire, just watching as the mech recovered himself.

After a moment, Skyfire sat up and smiled at Starscream sheepishly, “I’m afraid I can’t do much for you in this state.” Starscream waved off the apologetic tone in his voice with a sultry smile.

“Oh believe me you’ve done more than enough for me already,” and with that he was picking up Skyfire in his servo so that he could press a soft kiss on the side of his helm.

“Love you Star,” Skyfire sighed, looking up at his conjunx with a dreamy little smile.

“Love you Sky.”

\---

Starscream was the one to bring Skyfire to the lab next morning, the shuttle was pristine and freshly polished, even in his tiny state. Starscream held him out on his palm, pointing first to Skyfire and then to the room at large.

“Fix him.”

“Don’t worry, I have the solution up and running-,” Brainstorm started, having enough common sense to look at least mildly sorry for the mischief he’d caused.

“Stop experimenting on Skyfire,” Starscream stated bluntly, slight curl to his lip as he looked like he was very transparently trying to hold himself back from snarling and barking orders the way he had back in his other faction. “He’s been in the ice 4 million years, and doesn’t need to be put in a new risky situation every day. Find some other grunts to test your experiments on, fire them at decepticons, I don’t care.”

Starscream set Skyfire down on a nearby lab table as he stalked closer to Brainstorm, wings flared out in a flagrant display of menace, “Just stop experimenting on my conjunx.”

And with a haughty heel turn and a final flick of his wings he exited the lab.

“Well,” Brainstorm huffed, looking slightly put out though not at all intimidated, at least on the surface. His gaze landed on Skyfire, who was grinning madly, his wings held high in a display of outright joy.

“Does seeing your conjunx- congrats by the way, hadn't heard the news- ticked off, always put you in such a good mood,” Brainstorm asked, leaning down to peer incredulously at Skyfire.

“It’s the first time he’s called me that publicly,” Skyfire laughed, managing for the moment to be on top of the world, even at his tiny stature.

“Small victories, I guess,” Wheeljack chuckled, scooping up Skyfire from his place on the table. “Now let’s get you back to normal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Days taken so far: 1-3,7,16,19,27,29
> 
> tweet with prompts: https://twitter.com/newbandnamethx/status/1310968286973173764?s=20
> 
> Request here or in comments!
> 
> keep in mind these prompts might be as short as 1k, I probably won't do them in order, and might not get em all done by end of oct, but I sure will try. But if I say I'll do it, I definitely will!


	3. Day 5- Double Penetration in two holes Aerialbots

Combining was a unique experience, with a unique set of problems. Silverbolt had grown used to that by now. It was important to keep a cool head, and blow off steam before they combined. Anger, resentment, and more, would just serve to fester in the bond. Silverbolt was well aware of this and did his best to make sure his team kept things in equilibrium so they could deliver their best on the battlefield.

They even had a sort of punishment game running, which Silverbolt allowed partially because it was harmless and good for team building, and partially because he had, as of yet, never been on the losing side. 

Silverbolt had been trying to get time to himself to take care of a bit of excess charge while his gestaltmates were otherwise preoccupied. Silverbolt wasn’t much one for self servicing, not with four other mecha who all tended to have needs that were handily synced with his own. However, his gestalt had been split up for the moment, two of them sent out on patrol duty and two of them having apparently sassed Prowl enough to earn a punishment.

So Silverbolt was left alone with a rare moment of peace and some charge to burn off. He greeted the opportunity eagerly. A little self exploration every once in a while was a good thing after all, right? Defining oneself apart from a gestalt and sating one’s needs independently. Silverbolt relaxed with his spike in hand, optics fluttering closed as he reclined back on the berth.

With the excellent timing they were known for, the alarms of the Ark sounded and he received a comm from Prowl almost simultaneously. Two words. “Superion needed.” He sighed, and tucked himself away behind his modesty panels, rising wearily. Of course.

Silverbolt greeted his gestalt, everyone having been assembled, Air Raid and Slingshot looking pent up and twitchy after whatever Prowl’s monotonous punishment had been, and Fireflight and Skydive looking invigorated by their morning patrol. Overall the team radiated energy, which spelled for a chaotic time in Superion should they have to see battle, but Silverbolt figured it would do well to burn off his excess charge, and perhaps even help mask it.

A mech could hope.

“Prowl says we’ll be defending the Energon deposit that is located dangerously close to a human settlement. Minimal damage, keep the situation under control, do not escalate if possible. Understood?” Silverbolt surveyed his group and watched all four helms nod.

They assemble and all at once Silverbolt is greeted with the familiar and warm cacophony of his gestalt’s consciousnesses merging into one. It felt right, felt complete, the meshing of their being as five gave way to one. 

Somewhere in the back of his processor, Silverbolt must have still been fixated on his denied overload, because it wasn’t long into Superion’s arrival that they all felt a jolt of restless arousal stirring through it, adding to the already frenetic haze.

“Someone didn’t self service before combining,” someone in the bond singsonged voice rising up in Superion’s tone rather than any one of their own distinct voices.

“Can it, let’s get this over with and then the guilty party can pay the price,” someone else chastised, most likely Slingshot.

“Nevermind that, let’s get on with this,” at hearing Silverbolt’s clear command in Superion’s voice, the rest of the gestalt settled down and with that they were able to take off and make their way over to the area of interest. 

Things were over relatively quickly, the decepticons scattered at Superion’s approach, only firing off one or two poorly aimed shots as they retreated. 

“Really?” Superion muttered in disbelief. The gestalt bond was still crackling with rambunctious energy. Silverbolt couldn’t help but find himself resonating with it, the charge zinging around the bond and seeming to increase in ferocity until he decided to disengage. They fell apart, five separate mecha again.

“Well,” Slingshot demanded. “Who was the bot who couldn’t keep it under his panels.” He scanned his gestalt, looking for the guilty party, optics seemingly skipping over Silverbolt, before his captain sighed, and raised his servo. 

Four surprised pairs of optics shot to him. Slingshot’s look of irritation folded to a predatory grin as he realized his captain was finally at their mercy. Air Raid likewise looked elated while Fireflight and Skydive had the dignity to look a bit more reserved, though he knew them well enough to know that they were jittery with excitement as well by the gleam in their optics.

“I supposed,” Silverbolt said in a resigned tone. “We should take this back to our quarters then.”

A grumble of assent made its way through the gestalt and Silverbolt found himself getting ushered forward by his teammates eagerly pressing him. He could feel it in the bond, the arousal, the eagerness, slight nerves at the thought of debauching their captain-

“Well, guess we owe you guys shanix,” Air Raid said while Slingshot looked indignant as they trudged to their pickup point.

“Did you have to remind them,” he snapped. 

Air Raid shrugged, “No sense in dragging it out”.

“You bet on whether I would crack?” Silverbolt asked incredulously looking between his gestaltmates. He didn’t know whether he should be amused or offended. 

“Course, if you could make it till we were deployed off earth, we’d win,” Air Raid said cheerily. “You’re always so put together, seemed like easy money. Guess not though.”

“Everyone has their slipup,” Fireflight said quietly, looking proud of himself before he noticed Silverbolt staring at him. “Not that you should be ashamed of it, it’s perfectly natural to-.”

“I get it,” Silverbolt snorted, waving him off. 

It was a difficult ride back to the Ark. Silverbolt found it hard to keep himself distracted from the bond when his team was so intent on showing him their eager ideas about what they could do. Where to put their mouths, their idea of what his array looked like, some colorful depictions of where their spikes could be put. He was on the verge of snapping at them when the bond went ominously quiet.

Silverbolt drew in a shaky inhale, and glanced at his team who seemed to be colluding together over the bond. He rolled his optics and settled down to enjoy the peace of their return to the Ark as best as he could, trying to ignore the near constant arousal in his array or the way lubricant was pooling on his panel.

Once they landed the five of them hastily made their way back to their quarters. Silverbolt couldn’t help but feel a bit crowded as his gestalt followed him like they thought he was going to bolt at any moment. When at last they had reached their quarters, Silverbolt sat down on the berth to find his gestalt looking at him expectantly. 

“So what are and aren’t we allowed to do,” Slingshot asked, and Air Raid nodded eagerly next to him.

“Nothing that’s going to end me up in the medbay,” Silverbolt said tiredly, as he let himself relax into the berth. That didn’t seem to relieve any of the nervous eagerness practically radiating off his gestalt so Silverbolt looked up at them, cocking an eyebrow.

“What, do you have something in mind?” he asked, looking between the four of them and then reaching out into the bond only to find a mutiny had been staged. He was still stonewalled from their bond as the four of them appeared to be having a silent argument across it.

“We were wondering,” Skydive began hesitantly before pausing.

Air Raid quickly lost patience and blurted, “We wanted to take you all at once, y’know, like a gestalt.”

“All at once,” Silverbolt repeated dumbly, staring at his gestalt blankly. His gestalt shifted uncomfortably.

“Y’know like, two in the front two in the back,” Slingshot muttered, and even he couldn’t quite keep the look of shy embarrassment off his face.

“Really,” Silverbolt asked incredulously. He’d seen the same sort of thing on cheap interface videos, but the mechs involved clearly weren’t actually gestalt and it was just some sort of odd kink.

“I mean you don’t have to of course, we could always just do something else,” Skydive said nervously, offering Silverbolt a shaky smile.

“I’m not rejecting this proposition, but you will have to adequately prepare me,” Silverbolt said after a moment of thought. “And we go at my pace.”

Four helms nodded eagerly in assent. Silverbolt had to suppress a laugh at how incontrol he felt over his own supposed “punishment”.

“We’ll keep this simple, if I say stop, everyone stops what they’re doing, if I say slow down, we slow down. Good?” 

Again four helms nodded in assent, and someone, he thinks Slingshot, let out a little “Pit yeah.”

Everyone seemed to move to action at once, Silverbolt was tilted backwards onto the berth as his legs are spread and his covered array was bared. Someone's mouth was placed on his panels and he’s reminded that he still had a lot of charge. Digits in his seams, Slingshot impatiently muttered “C’mon, open up.”

Skydive nudged his gestaltmate irritably, “He just said we’re not going to rush this.” Digits worked their way into the seams by his thighs and played with the cabling there. It sent pleasant tingles down to his array, which only served to settle into the well of burning charge that had collected there. With a small huff Silverbolt let his panel open slowly, giving whoever was licking it time to pull clear safely.

A slick digit prodded at his port the same time the mouth that had been on his panel descended on his valve without much ceremony. Silverbolt grunted in surprise as the digit was shoved in up to the second knuckle. It sent a mild spark of pain but Silverbolt didn’t mind it. The mouth on his valve didn’t exactly hurt either.

It felt nice, as Silverbolt relaxed and started to enjoy the sensations in his valve he realized that not being in control, not having to gauge other’s reactions but being solely responsible for his own, was nice. There was a freedom in ceding control and letting his processor focus on nothing other than himself for once. 

“Move Air Raid, you’re hogging him,” Slingshot sniped pushing at his gestaltmate’s shoulder, impatience plain on his face.

“I’m stretching him,” Air Raid snapped testily back, jabbing another digit inside his aft to punctuate his point. Silverbolt winced. The sensation this time was considerably more painful, edging towards unacceptable. Skydive noticed the expression and looked to the other two sternly.

“Stop bickering you two,” he snapped at his gestaltmates. Turning to Silverbolt, expression softening, he asked, “How are you captain?”

“Fine, maybe cut back on the roughness, at least for now,” Silverbolt muttered, voice sounding rough and a tad strained.

“You want to help, you prep his back, I’ll prep his front,” Air Raid withdrew his digits from Silverbolt’s port and went to ram them into his valve before Fireflight hastily seized his wrist. 

“Go wash those, I’ll take care of this,” he said, tone devoid of any emotion. Knowing better than to argue with Fireflight, Air Raid scampered off to do just that as soon as his teammate let go of his grasp. Fireflight eased his digits into Silverbolt’s valve, scissoring them slowly.

“Always wondered, captain, were you more of a valve mech or a spike mech before joining our gestalt?” Fireflight’s tone was smooth and soothing, a contrast to his probing question. Silverbolt squinted at his quieter team member. Fireflight was very good at collecting data and using it efficiently, which could be unsettling at times. He would arrive at conclusions long before they seemed to be apparent to anyone else, and decided when was best to disseminate that information. 

“Valve, why?” Silverbolt responded.

Fireflight shrugged, “No reason other than mere curiosity captain.” He eased a third digit into Silverbolt’s valve and held his three digits apart until he felt a calliper give way and loosen. 

“Are you just going to sit there?” Fireflight asked Slingshot, who was regarding Silverbolt with cautious curiosity.

“I’m getting to it, I’m getting to it,” Slingshot said irritably as he nudged his digits into Silverbolt’s aft and began to stretch him. Slingshot wasn’t the kind of mech who seemed to even know the definition of the word gentle, so Silverbolt was pleasantly surprised to find deft digits working him apart with slow patience.

After a while Silverbolt found himself becoming impatient with the preparation, and that sentiment leaked into the bond as well as his frame. He found himself pushing down on Fireflight’s digits as they worked him. Fireflight raised an eyebrow and with the barest hint of a smirk, his digits pressed down with pinpoint accuracy on roughly the area where Silverbolt’s spike was sheathed, and massaged it firmly. Silverbolt found him tossing his helm back and clenching his denta as his spike slid out.

“What a lovely spike, Captain,” Fireflight said pleasantly, and with his free servo didn’t hesitate to grip him in a firm stroke.

“Gonna overload if you keep at that,” Silverbolt grunted as his processor struggled to string sentences together under the pleasure of Fireflight working both his valve and spike at the same time.

“That’s the plan,” Fireflight hummed, digits pressing against another sensory node that had Silverbolt’s hips jumping. “Just relax Captain, take the pleasure,” Fireflight soothed and then pressed even harder into the node as Silverbolt let out a moan that had his faceplates heating in the aftermath of it.

“Wow, I didn’t even know he could make those noises,” Skydive said in a hushed tone. Silverbolt had forgotten he was in the room with how quiet he had been.

Air Raid returned back with servos dripping in solvent just at the moment Silverbolt let out another strained groan and overloaded into Fireflight’s grip. 

“Nice, seems like that loosened him up a bit back here,” Slingshot said, looking at Fireflight with approval. Fireflight merely gave him a slight nod. 

“Overload tends to do that.”

“Can we just get on to the fragging,” Silverbolt wheezed as he tried to bring his addled processor back into functioning post overload. 

“Sure,” Fireflight said and got up from in front of him, releasing his spike and valve from his touch as he did so. “Air Raid and Slingshot, you two take him first. Skydive and I will come in second.”

A part of Silverbolt felt relieved at the thought of Fireflight directing things. It helped him feel like he wasn’t completely being thrown to the turbofoxes. 

Air Raid replaced Fireflight in front of him, and Silverbolt was soon greeted with an eager spike nudging its way into his valve. Slingshot was doing the same at his port, but whereas Air Raid had himself fully seated in Silverbolt in a short bit of time, Slingshot was much more slow as he eased into his captain, probing at him through the bond for signs of discomfort.

Silverbolt felt a bit of warmth well up in his spark at his normally reckless gestaltmate’s tender approach. 

“Don’t get soppy,” Slingshot snorted allowed, punctuating his sentence with a shallow thrust that made Silverbolt jump.

“Looking good Captain,” Air Raid husked into his audial. A servo reached down to stroke at his spike. 

“I’m going to overload if you do that,” Silverbolt protested, and this time he said it wasn’t for the sake of his dignity but rather concern about how many overloads he could reasonably be expected to produce in a night.

“Don’t worry about that captain,” Slingshot was saying into his other audial, and he rolled his hips as he spoke. Silverbolt bit his lip and leaned forward into Air Raid and away from Slingshot. “We’ve got enough stamina to work you up again.”

Silverbolt found himself being pulled back and down on Slingshot’s spike as Air Raid pressed himself closer and shifted his hips up to press right against Silverbolt’s ceiling node. Silverbolt’s intakes grew ragged as he felt himself getting edged towards another overload. Air Raid was swiping his digit over the tip of his spike maddeningly, until it was spurting another jet of transfluid.

“Kinda quick tonight, huh Captain,” Air Raid teased. Silverbolt felt his optics grow bleary. Air Raid pulled back to look at his expression.

“Oh, uh, woah, should I stop?” he asked, concern crossing his expression.

“I’m fine,” Silverbolt replied hastily, voice slightly hoarse. He didn’t know why his optics were leaking, but he did his best to blink away the excess coolant. “I just won’t be able to last at this pace.”

“It’s alright captain,” Skydive was edging into view, arousal plain on his face, mixed with tender concern. “We can do it however you’d like.”

“Continue,” Silverbolt said motioning Skydive closer. Skydive’s servo drifted south and remained there for a while, working in first one digit, then two, stretching him gingerly and waiting for callipers to loosen. When at last it looked like he was getting to a realm he deemed acceptable he looked at Silverbolt.

“Alright for me to press ahead?”

Silverbolt merely lolled his helm in a way that indicated vague assent, and backed it up with a pulse through the bond. Skydive’s intrusion burned and every time Silverbolt was about ready to ask for him to stop, Skydive paused, waiting for him to loosen up and playing with his spike and node a little while he waited. His spike was filled with an odd sort of pleasure pain at his touch and Silverbolt suppressed a groan at the contact. At last he bottomed out, and Silverbolt took a moment to try to regulate his breathing as he sat impaled on three of his team members' spikes.

“One more captain,” Fireflight was murmuring soothingly into his audial. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m going to overheat,” Silverbolt replied in a wheezy tone. 

“If you feel unsafe,” Fireflight began, expression showing more concern than Silverbolt had seen during any of their many battles together. 

“No, just get on with it,” Silverbolt muttered. He was aware that his frame was just reacting to overstimulation with a weird rush of sensory input that didn’t necessarily correlate to how things actually were. He checked his internal temperature, he was still well within the normal range.

“Alright captain,” Fireflight agreed, and began to nudge himself in. Silverbolt was tight and quivery, his frame letting out occasional overwhelmed shudders and tremors, to which his gestalt responded to by petting and soothing him with low rumbles of praise. 

In the bond Silverbolt was a mass of sensations and feelings rather than coherent thought. His gestalt did their best to soothe him there as well, offering warm emotions of praise and affection as their captain stuttered on the verge of both overload and processor shutdown.

“Never thought he’d get like this,” Slingshot said, voice betraying his awe at the situation as well as his strain in refraining from thrusting into his captain.

“I suppose anyone would fall apart in this situation,” Air Raid said as he petted the side of Silverbolt’s frame, earning him a groan. 

As Fireflight nudged himself fully inside, Skydive shifted, the tip of his spike causing Air Raid to press particularly harshly against a favored sensory node. Silverbolt let out a choked noise and his spike dribbled out a bit of transfluid as his valve clenched down as best as it could, calipers beyond overtaxed at this point. He was losing track of his overloads at this point, and the spikes inside him felt like they were prolonging each one. 

Silverbolt became vaguely aware of more coolant dripping down his face as a digit gingerly wiped at it. Skydive leaned in to kiss Silverbolt, the act quickly growing sloppy and incoherent as his servo drifted down to rub at his node. Silverbolt wrapped an arm around Skydive, both to bring him closer into the kiss and to hold himself steady.

“Can we move?” Air Raid whined, tone bordering on begging. Instead of giving his assent in any verbal manner, Silverbolt sent an affirmative through the bond. What followed was an awkward sort of writhing from Air Raid and Slingshot, their spikes grinding alongside their respective teammate’s until Silverbolt shuddered in overload again, clamping down and triggering an overload from Air Raid. 

As Air Raid and Silverbolt overloaded concurrently, the sensation of their bliss rippled through the bond and the remaining three were groaning into their own respective overloads not long after. Silverbolt between them seemed to have gone into a post overload hibernation, his absence noted in their bond as he slipped into recharge.

“Ah, maybe this punishment game went a bit far,” Skydive commented as he eased himself out of his captain.

“You think he’ll be alright?” Air Raid asked as he peered down at their captain worriedly. 

“He’s going to be sore as pit tomorrow, that’s for certain,” Slingshot commented.

“Well, guess that means he can’t run drills with us then,” Air Raid grinned. Fireflight rolled his optics and unsubspaced a rag, leaning forward to start wiping his captain’s plating clean. He unsubspaced a second one and threw it at Air Raid’s broad grin. 

“Help out, we’re not leaving his panels a mess.”

That statement seemed to snap everyone out of their post coital bliss and they all looked at their captain, face slack, mouth open as he recharged through his dead exhaustion. His entire lower half and some of his middle was stained with transfers and transfluid. His spike hadn’t bothered to retract itself yet, instead laying limpy against his thigh.

“Alright, alright,” Air Raid agreed and with him the rest of the gestalt got to work on bringing their sleeping captain back into somewhat presentable condition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My bromigos, sorry this took so fucking long. I have a 10k secret solenoid to write so I might be a bit quiet during that but apart from that, I'm on break for a while and will be writing 2k words a day so hopefully some stories get updated, some requests get filled, yada, yada.
> 
> Anyways here's my attempt at the aerialbots, i essentially just read the wiki and characterized them off that.


	4. Day 6- Free Use Skywarp/Air Force

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its basically Warp x the entire Air Command while his trine moderates.

They’d discussed his kink at some length. That’s how Skywarp found himself gagged, blindfolded and trussed up. His servos tied behind his back, thrusters bound to his thighs and thighs forced open and spread as they bound him to a table. That wasn’t all they did of course. 

Starscream and Thundercracker had prepped him at some length, it had felt like hours for Skywarp, but in actuality was probably more like a half hour. His valve and port were played with, worked open and slicked with lubricant. After that had been accomplished, someone had played with his valve for a time, pinching the lips until they became swollen and sensitive, sucking on his node until Skywarp was nearly cresting overload, and right as he was about to they pulled away, leaving him squirming fitfully and trying to beg for more around his gag.

Starscream had hardlined with him and disengaged his spike, making it unable to deploy, no matter how much they teased and played with his housing. Someone had sealed their mouth over his slit and teased the tip of his spike with their glossa until he was near screaming in desperation around the gag.

A ping was sent.

“Continue?”

He gave the affirmative. 

Servos were back on him.

A few stinging slaps were delivered to his valve and Skywarp began to squirm and sob in earnest. 

“Careful, you’ll overload him like that,” Thundercracker murmured from somewhere in the room.

“He’ll be overloading plenty soon enough, you know what his refractory time is like,” Starscream snorted, but ceased touching him nonetheless. 

“Ready to let the others in?” Thundercracker was closer now, almost right by his audial. A servo brushed over his cheek, swiping away some of the wetness.

Skywarp nodded vigorously and send a comm of affirmation. 

“Right,” Starscream said and distantly Skywarp heard the sound of a door opening and a gaggle of people entering, voices a low murmur. Soon enough servos were on his thighs and digits were swiping through the mess at his valve.

“Remember,” Starscream called clearly, tone smooth and low and threatening in a way that made Skywarp’s valve tingle. “If I say stop, you stop. If I call a yellow code, you slow down and proceed with caution.”

“We got it, Screamer, you only told us fifty something times,” Someone sounding a lot like Astrotrain said irritably.

“I’ll tell you fifty something more if that’s what it takes to get it through your thick helm,” Starscream retorted.

Someone grunted in response and then there were digits, thick and rough pushing into his valve. Skywarp squirmed in excitement, trying his best to make eager noises around the gag.

“What did you do to him? He’s awfully worked up tonight,” Someone snickered.

“Can I move the gag and use his mouth?” Someone else, he thinks Dirge, asked.

“As long as you put it back once you finish,” Thundercracker affirmed. 

With that Skywarp finds his helm turned and the gag removed. 

“Use your tongue, good mech,” that low rumble is definitely Blitzwing, as most likely is the large servo rubbing at his wing. The digits in his valve are replaced with a spike as someone thrusts into him viciously, making the walls of his valve ache with the force. No thought is spared to his pleasure, though Skywarp does derive some in being taken so roughly, 

The mech at his valve finishes, pulling out to spray his load onto Skywarp’s valve and giving his node a few good, hard rubs, but not enough to finish him. Skywarp whines around the spike in his mouth and Blitzwing chuckles.

“I’ll finish you off once you give me an overload, alright?” 

Skywarp hums his affirmation and continues to suck at Blitzwing’s spike with fervor as someone probes at his aft port. Skywarp nearly chokes as the mech at his port shoves himself in unceremoniously, pushing two large digits into his valve at the same time. Skywarp overloads instantly, valve cycling down hard as he forgets to suck on Blitzwing. The pressure at his aft is large and it burns, and the mech at his port grunts in exertion as he works his way in.

“Loosen up a bit, will you?” It’s Astrotrain, unsurprisingly that speaks. There were few else his size in the air force.

“Touch his node,” Blitzwing says, as he thrusts a little into Skywarp’s mouth. Skywarp groans around the spike in his mouth as digits rub over his oversensitive node and the spike in him works a little deeper. He’s never had something so large up his port, but this, he’s sure, could quickly get addicting.

It isn’t long before both mecha at either end start to pound into him in earnest. Blitzwing overloads first, giving him an almost unending amount of transfluid that Skywarp has no choice but to take down. Blitzwing eases himself out Skywarp and the gag is gently forced back into his intake, leaving him to drool a mix of oral fluid and transfluid around it.

“Primus, you’re a sight,” Blitzwing chuckles affectionately. As Astrotrain finishes at his port, overloading deep inside him and pulling out, Blitzwing askes “Now how about that overload?”

Skywarp nods eagerly, and with another small laugh, Blitzwing is moving down to his valve. Two larger digits fill him while a thumb presses at his node and a digit rubs over his spike housing, slipping in to rub at his tip. It burns like all pit and Skywarp wheezes around the gag and sends a yellow in his comm.

“Blitz, go slow with his spike housing,” Thundercracker calls out a moment later.

“Gotcha.”

The digit in his housing doesn't move but it doesn’t press any deeper, just stays and massages the tip while the digits inside him work him over. As he pushes up and in, Skywarp feels his spike being assaulted from both sides and a half choked sob works his way out of his intake. Blitzwing doesn’t speed up, just works him up steadily, the pleasure in Skywarp’s array building and building until he finds himself squeezing around the digits in him and overloading wetly.

As Blitzwing pulls his digits out Skywarp can’t help but feel the dribble of fluids out of his valve and port. He clenches in loss at the sensation.

“He’s a mess,” Comes Ramjet’s derisive tone, followed by the grating laughter of Thrust. 

“Hey Screamer, can we move him off the table to take him from both sides?”

Starscream must have given some nonverbal signal of affirmation because Skywarp finds himself getting maneuvered off the table and two spikes edging into him from either end. With his arms bound he really doesn't have much choice but to slump forward onto the mech in front of him.

Judging by the grunt of irritation it’s Ramjet.

Ramjet starts to talk, to tell him what a piece of shareware he is, how he was made for this, and every other trite piece of porno nonsense he’s heard mecha say in dirty vids. He tunes it out as Ramjet nudges his way into his valve and Thrust into his port. Maybe it would be hot if it was Starscream talking to him that way, but he can take Ramjet as seriously as he takes the concept of authority generally.

Tuning them out gets that much easier once they’re actually fragging him, and he even gets another overload out of it. At this point, even his legendary refractory time is wheezing a bit, though mecha continue to go at him after Thrust and Ramjet finish up.

He’s in a floaty sort of haze for a while when the blindfold and gag are taken off him. He sees Starscream’s face peering down at him, red optics a shade softer and less disdainful than usual.

“You still functioning Warp?” he asks as Thundercracker appears at the end of the table with a damp cloth and begins to wipe at his oversensitive array a bit too roughly, earning him a hiss.

“Sorry,” Thundercracker says, easing up.

Skywarp gives a shaky thumbs up in response to the both of them and flops his helm back onto the table with a groan of exhaustion.

“No, get back up, you need to fuel,” Starscream says irritably, because his trineleader doesn’t really do nurturing that well. But he tries, and that in itself is kinda cute. Skywarp finds a servo lifting his helm as a cube is pressed to his intake. He sips at it gingerly a bit, finishing about half of it before turning his helm away. Starscream seems satisfied with that and lets his helm return to the table.

“You did well,” he praised, as Thundercracker finished up and Skywarp finds himself being lifted off the table and with the last of his energy he warps them to their quarters.

“Hey, we still had to clean up in there,” Thundercracker protested weakly.

“Later,” Skywarp says, and slings his arms around his two trinemates, dragging them down onto the berth with him. Starscream complains tokenly for a moment, something about his irresponsibility and immaturity, you never listen Warp, blah, blah….

Skywarp pouts at him, looking at Starscream beseechingly until his trineleader gives in and gives him a slow kiss, while Thundercracker cuddles against him. Servos come up to rub at his wings and Skywarp starts to drift off to the murmurs of praise from his trine and the low satisfying ache of his valve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got this one out just because it came easy, and I was able to keep it pretty short compared to the rest lmao.


	5. Day 7- Breeding Kink Drift/Rodimus

Drift, he could tell, was in a mood. He didn’t miss the way the other mech stuck to his side whenever he found the opportunity, nor did he miss how handsy he had been during their mutual shifts. Servos on his hip when they were walking in the halls, doomed to stray to his aft if Rodimus didn’t swat at it first. Kisses pressed to the side of his helm while they drank in Swerves’.

Not to mention the glaring. Glaring at Magnus who had the gall to work with Rodimus daily. Glaring at Megatron, who placed a friendly servo on Rodimus’ spoiler. Even Tailgate wasn’t free of Drift’s ire, the mini earned himself a hearty dose of Drift’s indignation when he jumped on Rodimus’ back for a spontaneous piggy back ride and a game of “finger on head”.

As Rodimus turned and caught Drift’s expression his own soured, and he let Tailgate down gently, waving to the bot as he trotted off down the hall.

“What,” Rodimus sighed as he turned to face Drift. “What’s with all the glaring? Tailgate too?”

Drift didn’t respond, remaining quiet and sullen.

“Come on,” Rodimus sidled up to Drift slowly, slow grin working his way across his face. “Is it because you miss me?” The question was punctuated by a poke to the cheek. “Come on Drift, admit it, you miss me.”

Drift couldn't contain the slow smile that spread across his face in response to the goading, and he grinned, grabbing Rodimus’ servo and, noting they were alone in the corridor, he pulled Rodimus into a kiss. “Alright, you got me,” he conceded.

Rodimus laughed, throwing his helm back as the boisterous noise rumbled out of him, “Well, can’t say I enjoy it either but y’know with us jumping to a new universe and all, Magnus has been running me ragged figuring out logistics and such. Guess we haven’t been hanging out as much as usual.”

Drift’s look soured even more at that statement and he looked away. 

“Come on,” Rodimus tugged at Drift’s servo, smile turning sultry as he looked at the other bot. “I know what you’re in the mood for when you’re like this.”

He led Drift along back to his quarters, closing and locking the door. When they were alone Drift was quick to make his first move. Rodimus had figured out pretty quickly during their first few bouts of casual interfacing how far and beyond outmatched he was when showing down with Drift one on one in hand to hand combat. 

He found himself quickly turned and pinned, one arm twisted behind his back as Drift leaned his weight into him, pressing him up against the wall of his quarters.

“Open,” The command was more of a purr, but it was still intense in its inflection and Rodimus found it all too easy to give into the command with a minute little shiver. 

Drift worked his digits into Rodimus as he mouthed at his neck cables, pressing alternating licks and kisses into them. One servo rested lightly on Rodimus’ hip, the other trailed gently along his spoiler, making him shiver.

“Don’t leave any noticeable marks, I don’t need Magnus complaining in a “private meeting” about captain conduct,” Rodimus chastised after a particularly harsh nip causes him to wince.

Drift lets out a petulant huff that made something in Rodimus spark twinge.

“You can use your mod, though” Rodimus murmured as he squirmed around the digits inside him. “I’m in the mood for that tonight and I know you are.” 

“Really?” Rodimus doesn’t have to turn around to know that Drift’s expression is eager and excited. He could practically see his wide blue optics sparking with delight the way only Drift’s seemed to be able to do.

Rodimus finds himself smiling at the image, before Drift’s digits in his valve shift again, reminding him how much he’d like a good hard frag at the moment. He shifted his weight back, grinding onto Drift’s fingers and letting out a breathy little sigh of pleasure as Drift brushed a node.

Determined to wrest control back from Rodimus, Drift grabbed Rodimus by his spoiler and maneuvered him over to his berth pushing him down on it, so his aft is up. His valve looked wet and enticing, the outer rim a bold red, with the inner folds being a brilliant yellow. It was flashy and alluring, much like its owner. Drift found himself staring a moment before Rodimus looked over his shoulder with an air of impatient challenge.

“Are you just going to look at it or are you going to frag me like you’ve been itching to do all day?”

A noise half between a growl and a purr came roiling up out of Drift’s throat as he climbed onto the berth pressing Rodimus down as he delivered a stinging bite to his spoiler, earning him a gasp. Rodimus turned over in an attempt to get Drift off his spoiler, looking up at the mech with a slightly irritated expression.

“Hey, what did I just say about m-marks,” Rodimus’ tone lost a bit of it’s bite as Drift leaned close to lick his spoiler in consolation as he nudged the outside of Rodimus’ valve with his spike.

“I want,” Drift growled lowly. “Everyone to know you’re mine.”

He began to push in and Rodimus sunk down onto the berth, helm tipping back, as he felt his valve start to stretch and the delicious warmth of Drift’s spike began to part him.

“I want,” Drift started and then stopped, seemingly too shy to continue. Rodimus wrapped his legs around Drift’s hips pulling him closer, smirking as Drift startled slightly.

“You wanna overload in me?” Rodimus whispered into Drift’s audial as if he was telling some dirty secret instead of a blatant fact. He ground back on Drift, pushing him in further. His valve was full of a pleasant burn, and the shy, slightly flustered tint to Drift’s face had Rodimus’ spark swelling with unspoken emotion. He noted the way Drift’s servos clenched the sheets at his words. 

His lips quirked in amusement. Besides Drift’s mod, most of the interfacing they’d done had been rather tame. Drift being ever the gentleman, and Rodimus being the type who liked to get off fast and often, usually things were either quick and dirty or relaxed and languid.

They hadn’t really explored much in the way of kinks or dirty talk. But Rodimus had his hunches. Both from Drift himself, and from the kind of material he’d caught flashes of Drift browsing here and there throughout their time together.

“You want to knot me,” Rodimus punctuated the question by squeezing his valve down on Drift’s spike, causing the other mech to groan.

“Yes,” Drift hissed, hips giving sharp, almost involuntary bucks as Rodimus felt the base of his spike start to swell.

“Mmm, what else do you want?” He asked, pulling himself close to Drift and brushing his lips against his audial. Drift let something close to a whine and a grunt, as he struggled through his next sentence.

“I want-,” Again Drift cut himself off, focusing on pushing his spike the rest of the way in.

Finally, gripping Rodimus’ spoiler so hard his struts radiated with a delirious mix of pleasure and pain, Drift forced the rest of his knot into Rodimus, his valve stretching painfully as the widest part of Drift’s spike edged in before it finally popped the rest of the way in. Drift’s face set in an expression that looked both determined and heated, and sent tingles of arousal all through Rodimus’ array as he looked at him intently.

“I want to spark you up,” Drift growled finally.

“Oh,” Rodimus managed, not quite startled at the statement so much as its abruptness.

“Is that too weird?” Drift questioned tentatively. Rodimus could hear the uncertainty in his tone.

“Nah, I’m into it,” Rodimus grinned up at Drift, before cupping Drift’s face and pulling him in for a kiss. Drift started to rock into him as Rodimus groaned into his mouth, breaking off to gasp as Drift’s knot angled up to press against a ring of sensitive nodes just inside his valve, while the tip of his spike butted up against the edge of his gestation chamber.

“I want to overload in you and have you carry my sparklings,” Drift grunted between thrusts, using Rodimus spoiler to pull him down closer, attempting to work his knot in even deeper. His spike was now pressed up against his gestation chamber firmly, pressing into nodes that usually didn’t get much engagement during their more normal interfacing sessions.

“Primus,” Rodimus moaned, unable to stop himself from clenching down at Drifts words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I want to see your valve dripping with my transfluid. I want,” Drifted shudders as he keeps rocking into Rodimus, grinding against those nodes. “Want you to overload on my knot.”

“If you don’t slow down,” Rodimus shuddered, gripping onto Drift’s arms for support. “I’m going to.”

“Want you to,” Was all Drift said before his rocking gets markedly rougher and then Rodimus’ spike is being stroked off roughly.

“Drift,” is all he can manage, his line of thought careening off track as his processor fills with the sensation of Drift filling his valve and filling his audial with all sorts of dirty suggestions.

“Going to spark you up so everyone knows your mine, going to keep you satisfied and full,” Drift rumbled low and possessively, and his servos trailed Rodimus abdomen, up to his chest plates, and without really thinking Rodimus is opening them and Drift’s digits are on his spark casing, gentle and intimate and frag-

“Gonna make you mine,” the sentence came out aggressive and dark, his rough tone striking a chord in Rodimus, the thrill of it is dizzying and has him feeling like he’s positively melting into the berth.

“Drift,” Rodimus moaned, and he’s trying to warn him, trying to tell him.

“Shhh, I wont,” Drift affirmed, catching Rodimus’ unspoken meaning and he didn’t. Drift’s own chest plates stayed closed and instead he brought Rodimus to one of the most intense overloads of his life by stroking his spark chamber and jerking off his spike.

Rodimus cried out Drift’s name, high and sharp, then overloaded, spike shooting a silvery jet of transfluid as his valve squeezed down on Drift’s spike, intensifying all the sensations he’d felt previously until they felt on the brink of too much.

Rodimus doesn’t remember offlining his optics, or Drift overloading, but both of those things seemed to happen in a time period he can’t quite yet place. His valve felt slick with transfluid, and he could feel the beginnings of an ache that would probably plague him all through his shifts tomorrow.

“Roddy,” Drift panted as he was lodged deep in him still, his knot slowly softening inside him. He burrowed his face into the crook of Rodimus’ neck.

“I don’t think we can keep calling this casual anymore. I’m going to go insane,” Drift mumbled into his cabling, feeling a pang of guilt. Post overload and literally tied into Rodimus, this was probably the shittiest timing for this kind of conversation, but then again Rodimus did always say overloads made him soppy.

Drift was surprised to hear Rodimus laugh, “Drift I’d assumed we’d both just agreed we were dating months ago. Is that why- oh Primus.”

Drift was reeling somewhere between insanely ecstatic and wanting to throttle Rodimus, and not in the erotic way.

“You aft,” Drift shoved lightly at Rodimus’ plating while the other mech dissolved into hysterics. Remembering he was still hilt deep in Rodimus, Drift shifted his hips, eyeing the other mech vindictively as the laughter quickly turned to moans.

“Drift, fuck, Drift I just overloaded, I can’t-,” Rodimus squirmed under him, looking a hilarious mix of amused, aroused and uncomfortable.

“Say you're an aft,” Drift commanded, punctuating his point by shifting himself further up against Rodimus’ ceiling node.

“O-oh, Okay. Okay! I’m an aft! I’m an aft!” Rodimus yelped, and then slumped in relief when Drift shifted back, letting out a contented little sigh.

“You sure are,” Drift muttered before reluctantly stooping down to give his smirking boyfriend a kiss.

“We kiss, like all the time, how could you not know?” Rodimus snorted after a moment of silence, in which both of them reveled in the wonder of what had just come to pass.

“Cyclonus has kissed you before,” Drift retorted a bit defensively, pursing his lips as he glared at Rodimus in irritation.

“Not on the lips! Not several times a week!” Rodimus exclaimed, starting to chuckle again, part amusement, part exasperation.

Drift just huffed as he allowed himself to be pulled into a kiss, unable to suppress a belligerent smile as he did so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just moved this weekend and my wifis been funky so ive had no gdocs which means no fic, so sorry about delays. Hopefully fixing that tom. Honestly Ill be writing kinktober way past oct at this point lmao. I've started everyone's requests at least so theres that lmao.


	6. Day 14- Collars Windblade/Starscream

“This is stupid,” Starscream grumbled, face flushing pink with energon as he tugged at the collar around his throat. It was red, matched his paint, and in Windblade’s own opinion, looked quite handsome on him. “I’m like one of those human things Thundercracker is so obsessed with. A Buster.”

Windblade smiled at him softly, with so much patience that it licked an irritating spark up his strut, “They’re called dogs. And yes they do also wear collars.” Her face turned more serious, smile dropping away, “If you’re not comfortable-.”

“Intimidated?” Starscream jutted his chin up in challenge. Every interaction between them seemed to have to be a battle of some kind. Windblade had yet to figure out why.

“Just worried that you were.” Windblade tried, she always tried with Starscream, to ensure proper adherence of his boundaries. Which was a herculean task when Starscream seemed to run head first at any attempts at emotional intimacy like a raging bull. So eventually it just boiled down to this muddled, confusing mess until she put her pede down.

Windblade hooked a digit in the ring of the collar and pulled Starscream’s face closer to hers, expression growing impatient, “Starscream, I want to know, are you comfortable with this? If you don’t confirm, we aren’t continuing.”

Starscream’s face twisted up in childish indignation as he glared at her for a moment, mouth pressed into a hard, thin line. His red optics searched her face for a moment. Windblade kept her expression calm, placid, which she knew might only further serve to irritate him, but with Starscream it was seemingly always a crapshoot as to whether something settled him or set him off.

“It’s fine,” is what he finally landed on, some of the pent up frustration leaving his frame as he acceded to giving up control, though his tone was still acerbic. She liked to think things were getting better. When they had first started these facing sessions, Starscream would often leave seeming upset, despite her protests and attempts at further discussion. In fact after the first time, when their session had devolved into a snarling mess of a frag where they both ended up biting hard enough to draw energon, both of them too stubborn to safeword, she hadn’t expected to see him in her berth again.

But here he was, and had been, for months.

“Alright, then. Get on the floor and on your knees,” Windblade commanded softly. Again, like asking for his boundaries, giving commands was a coin flip. Sometime’s Starscream fought her on every command, while other nights he silently, and even eagerly, obeyed each one.

When Starscream did so, she smiled, “Good.” She studied him for a moment. Starscream, when he wasn’t speaking, wasn’t pulling faces, or coaxing his entire frame into some farce with the purpose of deceit, he was pretty. He was sharp angles and smooth paint, carefully picked out and well kept. He was interesting, intriguing even, and up close Windblade regarded him quietly. 

Her trance was broken by the impatient twitch of a wing, and she smiled to herself at the gesture. She had come a long way in her own view and opinions of Starscream, not all of them had changed, or even improved, merely gotten more nuanced as she came to understand more and more about Starscream and how he fit into the context of his own life. As she looked down at him now, she realized that she found him cute, and maybe even the barest hint of endearing.

With a soft click, her modesty panel was opening, and her spike extended, slick with lubricant. Starscream’s optics were drawn to it, dimming slightly as he eyed it, like something feline eyeing its prey.

“Suck it off, if you do a good job I’ll reward you,” her voice was dropping to a low husky tone of promise and Starscream’s optics grew a little distant as a small tremor passed through his frame. Oh, he was in rare form tonight. Her servo drew forward, brushing the lightest touch on his wing, and when it twitched this time, it was upward, into her contact. She had noticed that Starscream’s conscious movements would sometimes be away from touch, recoiling. But, especially as they had grown more familiar with each other in their intimate dealings, a lot of his subconscious movements welcomed and encouraged her touch.

Again, she hooked a digit in his collar, pulling him closer to her spike until it was just a breath away from his face, other servo still trailing lightly on his wing. Starscream closed the distance himself, nuzzling it, seemingly alright with the smear of lubricant it left. After a moment he sucked the tip into his mouth, humming pleasantly around the tip.

“All of it,” Windblade pressed gently, putting a soft, guiding servo on the back of his helm. She felt him working his intake around her, his glossa pressing to the underside of his spike as he bobbed his helm to take her deeper. His optics fluttered closed as he did so.

Windblade tilted her helm back herself, letting out a groan at the sensation, the feel, the look, of Starscream docilely taking her spike.

“Good, good boy,” she murmured, and again, there was that minute tremor. She gave a small, experimental thrust, which in turn got her a small gag. Her hips stilled, but Starscream pressed himself down on her spike eagerly in response. His optics, now half open, were moist with just the barest hint of coolant. They flicked up to her, something almost pleading in his gaze.

“You like that?” Windblade cooed at him gently. His optics shutter and he gives just the barest hint of a nod. “I suppose I can indulge you.” With that she gave him a small thrust, then another and another. Starscream continued to gag a bit but, as he seemed to be enjoying it she didn’t stop, only getting rougher and rougher as he eagerly took her down.

She overloaded suddenly, gripping the back of his helm and forcing him to swallow her to the root as she spilled her transfluid down his intake. She let him off her then, limp spike withdrawing from his abused intake. Starscream wobbled on his knees a moment.

Windblade pet his wings, enjoying the rather new and strange calmness to Starscream.

“What do you say, Starscream?” Windblade purred as she drew a digit under his chin, tilting his face up to look at hers. His optics were hazy and there was a dribble of transfluid leaking out the side of his mouth. She wiped away at it gently as she waited for a response.

“Thank you,” Starscream said breathily.

“Good,” Windblade pressed a smiling kiss to his mouth, tasting the barest hint of herself as she did. A part of her fluttered at the way he kissed back, licking hungrily into her mouth.

“Now about that reward,” she breathed against his lips. “How do you want it?”

Starscream looks at her a long moment before wordlessly turning over onto his servos and knees, and opening his modesty panel, revealing a slick, wet valve. His legs spread a little wider, to give her a better look. Like most of Starscream, his valve was well kept, neat and smooth. It’s an even dark black, and there was something seductive in it’s relative simplicity compared to the rest of Starscream’s frame.

“My spike or mouth?” she asked, drawing a line up the wet slit, watching as it twitched and quivered at her touch.

“Spike,” there’s the barest edge of need to Starscream’s tone, and part of her wanted to press at that, see him really come apart, panting and begging in a way she hadn’t seen yet. But a stronger, much more present part of her cautioned that it’s probably too soon.

“I’m going to need a few more minutes to get ready,” Windblade said as she checked her spike pressurization, before returning her attention to Starscream. “Be good and give me a little show.”

Before Starscream could respond, or so much as look back over his shoulder at her, she was shoving two digits into his valve. His wings hiked up into a surprised “V” before lowering slowly, giving small twitches as they did so. She scissored his valve, enjoying the slick wet noises it made as she did so. A time or two she pressed her thumb into his anterior node, or brushed another digit against his port. She could feel the crackle of charge building in his array and only responded to it with increased speed, rubbing at his anterior node roughly as she finger fucked him. 

Starscream was lying with his face pressed on the floor, letting out moans of pleasure that were growing louder and louder, the note to them telling in that he was approaching climax. Just as he was about to reach it, she withdrew her digits.

Before he could finish his cry of protest, she was shoving her spike into him, jamming her slick soaked digits into his mouth, and starting a rough and fast pace. Her other servo grabbed one of his wings, bending it in that oh so delicate manner that was meant to not damage the wing, merely strain it. She bent it inwards, listening to the groan of the metal as she continued to buck into him and leave paint transfers on his frame as the angle of Starscream’s wing sent painful licks of pleasure down to his array.

She withdrew her digits from his mouth, tracing a slick line of spit along the other wing. Free of her digits, Starscream was once again letting out loud cries unhindered, and that charge that she had let dissipate before was once again building to it’s maddening peak. As she bent his other wing slightly farther, he let out a noise that was more raw and pitiful than she had ever heard it. But it wasn’t their safeword, and it wasn’t a cry to stop.

She hooked a digit in the ring of his collar, pulling at Starscream until he was arching his back in a bow off the floor, and as the wing she was holding grew tantalizingly close, Windblade bit down on it, hard. Hard enough to leave dents she knew he would have to pop out later. The valve around her clamped down and Windblade let out a groan of pleasure herself as she thrust deep into Starscream, overloading again.

She let go of his collar and his wing simultaneously, letting herself slump heavily onto him, pressing him into the floor. Starscream didn’t seem to mind for the moment, panting harshly as he let his cheek be mashed against the floor. His thighs were wet with excess lubricant and transfluid, Windblade’s spike still nestled between them.

Windblade pressed her face close to his, waiting to be snapped at for “crowding his personal space” as was often exclaimed at her, but to her surprise, Starscream just offlined his optics and allowed her to press her cheek close to his.

“You know, you could stay the night,” she murmured gently. “Use my wash racks.”

Starscream’s vocalizer clicked a few times as he struggled to online it from its dormant state, processor sluggishly fumbling through the settings. Distantly, Windblade wondered if he would ever let her hardline with him.

“Alright,” is what comes out, voice weak and reedy.

The strange mood continued in the wash racks, where Starscream let her take off the collar and wipe paint transfers off him, and only griped lighty about the dent in his wing as she attended to those too. His whinging held no real bite to it, and Windblade merely pressed a small kiss of apology to the mark, which quieted Starscream’s complaints.

Much later, once they were dried off and in the berth, she lay awake, a sleeping Starscream next to her, wondering to herself at the strangeness of things that had come to pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like this ship despite me really not enjoying like, a majority of Starcscreams TAAO characterization and having issues with TAAO's themes and messages lol. Also I have a huge craving, for Arcee and Windblade to dom, let them dom pls.
> 
> Anyways, requests for kinktober are still open lol, and if you requested before feel free to request something else (i really dont care as long as you dont request like 5 things at once), if its not a day I've already written, or days 3,5,27, feel free to request it. I kinda only plan to do requests once a year for kinktober bc I have too much of a laundry list of fics to write so, yeah. Give me your rarepairs or whatever, I'll try my hand at them. Otherwise I'll just fill out the rest of this with my weird niche rarepairs from my laundry list lmao. 
> 
> Link to prompts here:  
> https://twitter.com/kinktober2020/status/1292137619640459272
> 
> Current requests I'll finish sometime before the end of the year. There's a lot of holiday shenanigans rn so uploads are probably gonna get a bit spotty.


	7. Day 16- Fucking machine Starscream/Skyfire

Starscream was beyond frustrated. He’d expected difficulties, of course he had. Frame size incompatibilities were a common punchline of raunchy jokes in Cybertronian societies, and he was aware many mecha considered him and Skyfire to be a walking punchline.

But still. After hours and hours of attempts, he’d not managed to give Skyfire an overload through his valve.

“Really Starscream,” the shuttle attempted to reassure him for what had to have been the fourth or fifth time by now. “I don’t resent that we aren’t compatible this way and I don’t need-.”

Starscream just turned away and sulked gloomily on the edge of their berth. Skyfire came up behind him gently, resting a servo on his wing.

“Starscream, I am perfectly satisfied as things are,” Skyfire tried again, but he could see from Starscream’s posture that this wasn’t something he wanted to let go of. Internally he sighed as it probably didn’t bode well for either of them. He pressed a soft kiss on Starscream’s helm.

“This isn’t over,” Starscream menanced at no one in particular. Knowing him it was probably directed at the universe at large, a quite common recipient of Starscream’s righteous indignation.

“For tonight it is,” Skyfire said gently. He closed his modesty panel, ignoring the protest his systems gave. Like most of their attempts with his valve, the arousal would die down over time. “Come on, let’s go clean up in the wash racks.”

While he’d not gotten off via his valve that night, there was still plenty of mess on his frame from his and Starscream’s earlier, much more routine activities. Paint transfers, a few dents, and plenty of residual fluids. 

Begrudgingly and with quite a bit of muttering, Starscream got up and followed him to the wash racks, signaling the end of his attempt at giving Skyfire an overload through his valve for the night.

\---

When Skyfire headed back to their quarters a week later, he was looking forward to some time relaxing with Starscream. Maybe the two of them would discuss their respective endeavours in the lab, or Starscream would regale him with how his attempts at whipping the aerial bots into shape were going, or the two of them would just fuel in quiet companionable silence.

What he had not expected to see upon arriving to their quarters was Starscream handing what appeared to be a solid hunk of something phallic and nearly the size of his own arm.

“Ah,” Skyfire said as he entered.

“Ah,” said Starscream in reply. The two of them stared at each other for a moment before Starscream looking somewhat sheepish continued, “I wasn’t expecting you back so early.”

“Wheeljack’s experiment blew up and triggered a second explosion with Brainstorm’s experiment. Mandatory lab evacuation,” Skyfire said, optics not once leaving what he was slowly working out to be a very large false spike in Starscream’s servos.

“Is that for me?” Skyfire asked, finally decided to address the elephant sized dildo in the room.

“Yes,” Starscream said, jutting his chin up in that manner that meant he was a little pleased with himself and his scheme. He shifted the weight of the false spike a bit. He’d custom ordered it, had it modeled after his own spike and then blown up several times the size. 

“How did you-,” Skyfire stared at it dumbly before cutting himself off. In reality, he decided he didn’t want to know how Starscream had procured it and who in the Ark was potentially involved and knew of their bedroom issues.

“Irrelevant,” Starscream cut him off, seeming to arrive at the same conclusion. 

“Starscream, I don’t think a very large toy is going to-,” Skyfire began only to get cut off again.

“It’s not the whole thing,” Starscream said defensively. “I told you, you got here early, I wasn’t done setting up yet.”

With the kind of patience that could only come from spending 4 million years trapped in the ice, Skyfire let out a resigned sigh.

“Alright, let’s see the rest then.” While the night wasn’t going to be as calm as he initially planned, at least it would be interesting. And maybe if he faked an overload Starscream would put this whole ordeal to rest.

Probably not, but it was worth a shot.

Starscream pulled out a fairly large black box with a fair amount of knobs and dials on it and what seemed to be a stand. 

“Is that….” Skyfire trailed off peering at the machine with a precarious sort of curiosity.

“It magnetizes to the berth,” Starscream explained. “And the spike snaps onto it like this,” Starscream attached the spike with a little click onto a metal rod that was sticking out of the machine.

“And you operate it with the dials and such on the top,” Starscream demonstrated by turning a dial, the machine jumping to life in his servos as the spike moved forward and black in a smooth motion.

“The psi is capped at a force that won’t do any damage to valve mesh, so don’t worry about that,” Starscream rambled on, looking at the machine in his servos smugly.

“So what do you think?” Starscream finally asked, turning to look at Skyfire, optics bright with enthusiasm. Skyfire picked up the device and turned it over, looking at it from all sides as he mulled over how to approach this next bit.

“I’ll try it, on one condition,” Skyfire hummed as he set the device down on the berth and looked at Starscream seriously.

“If it doesn’t work out, you lay off this whole thing,” Skyfire said, placing a servo on Starscream’s shoulder. 

“You don’t like it?” Starscream said bitterly, wings tilting down in what he was sure was going to be another sulk.

“That’s not the point, Starscream, I just-. There’s nothing to fix between us, you know that right? That I’m happy with you, and satisfied in every way, and I’m not going to leave just because-.”

“I get it,” Starscream snapped turning his helm to the side swiftly. From his wings Skyfire could tell he was just overwhelmed and emotional rather than outright irate.

“Good, so long as we have that mutual understanding,” Skyfire smiled softly, before pulling Starscream in close to plant a gentle kiss on the side of his helm.

Starscream pushed at his chest, urging him back onto the berth. 

“Don’t get soppy with me now, we can do that later,” Starscream said as he positioned the device between Skyfire’s legs and touched a switch to magnetize it to the berth.

“Here,” Starscream said, handing Skyfire a small black square. A remote, he supposed.

“What’s this?” Skyfire peered at the device, turning it over in his large servos.

“It’s an emergency shut off. I’ll be controlling the machine but if you press the little black button on that, it will power it down immediately. Figured it would be best to have it as a backup,” Starscream shrugged. He looked away adding softly a moment later, “Didn’t want you getting hurt.”

“That’s very thoughtful, thank you Star,” Skyfire smiled as he placed the remote lightly beside him on the berth. 

Starscream looked at him with a pleased little smile before crawling onto the berth with him. Resting on Skyfire’s chest he looked up at him and asked, “Do you think you can prep yourself a bit while I get the toy ready?”

Skyfire nodded. He felt his way to the opening of his own valve, pushing in and slowly working open callipers as he watched Starscream slick down the toy with some sort of lubricant and then after wiping off his hands with a cloth he unsubspaced, he moved on to fiddle with the knobs and test the settings.

After a bit, both Starscream and Skyfire seemed ready, and looked at the other expectantly.

“I’m going to line it up now,” Starscream murmured, looking with keen interest at Skyfire’s slick valve. 

Skyfire felt the edge of the false spike nudge between his valve lips. Starscream turned a dial, and the spike moved in slowly.

“Is that okay?” Starscream asked, wings hiked up in a way that signaled his alertness to Skyfire’s input and nonverbal cues. Skyfire smiled internally. One of the things he had always liked best about Starscream was how much he cared, maybe not always for the right reasons or people, but… well that was over and in the past now.

He shifted as he felt a pleasant stretch in his valve, “It’s fine Star, thank you.”

When the spike was hilted fully in him, Skyfire was feeling full, but not overly so. It felt just right. 

Skyfire felt his spike extend in interest at the contact, and he let it hang, half hard and heavy, dribbling a bit of lubricant onto the berth. 

“I’m going to turn it on now,” Starscream said, though there was a hint of a question to his tone. Skyfire nodded. Slowly Starscream dialed up the force of the machine, the spike moving in and out of Skyfire’s valve with a steady precision.

“Oh,” Skyfire was shuddering under the force of the machine pushing into him. “Starscream, c-can you change the angle a bit, this is not exactly-.”

Starscream hastily adjusted the angle, pushing up. Then he remembered a certain node that Skyfire had seemed to like when he fingered him and angled it up a little more-

Just to watch as Skyfire nearly jolted off the berth, the tip of the dildo forcefully ramming into a sensitive spot in his valve mesh, grinding into it with enough force and friction that Skyfire felt strut tingling pleasure lick through his frame. A large hand came to the side of the berth and gripped it so hard the metal groaned. There would probably be an indent to repair later, but Skyfire could hardly bring himself to care. 

“A-ah,” Skyfire moaned. Starscream edged closer, now unsure. Skyfire looked at him and smiled shakily.

“Come on, you can touch me,” he said, looking at Starscream reassuringly for a moment before tilting his helm back and allowing his optics to shutter closed.

Confidence restored, Starscream was on the berth in a split second, servos trailing up Skyfire’s legs to between his thighs. A digit quickly found his node while another found his spike and Starscream began a fast rhythm where he stroked Skyfire and thumbed his node in equal amounts. Then Starscream pulled away, moving off him.

Skyfire found himself nearly cresting overload when the machine shut off and he startled, looking around confused and dazed until his optics landed on Starscream.

“Did I hit the power off button?” He asked. Starscream shook his helm.

“I wanted to try out a different setting,” He responded and before Skyfire could mull over what that meant, the spike within him began to move again, or rather, vibrate. Skyfire shifted until the spike was nosing up firmly against his ceiling node. Starscream was at his side again, crawling up his frame until his lips were pressed against Skyfire’s, his servo down between them, stroking the shuttle’s spike vigorously, until Skyfire was trembling under his grip. 

His spike shot a bit of transfluid as his valve cycled down on the toy inside him. Starscream lingered a moment, working the last of his transfluid from his spike, while Skyfire, edging on the verge of overstimulation, fumbled for the remote and switched off the machine.

“Primus,” he breathed, after taking a moment to collect himself.

“I’ll take it you enjoyed,” Starscream said smugly, as he sat perched atop Skyfire.

“Mmm,” Skyfire hummed in hazy agreement.

“Good,” Starscream’s lips were pressing into the side of his helm as Skyfire’s servo came up to press Starscream closer to him in a lazy half hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I owe you a request, look alive, it will probably post this weekend :)


	8. Day 17- Threesome or more Hot Spot/Streetwise/Groove/Blades/First Aid

It was more than anyone could reasonably be expected to bear. The long hours were one thing. The underfueling was another. Skipping out on gestalt bonding time, pushing the limits. But the last and final straw was the fact that First Aid's end of the bond, among radiating it’s usual tired, achey, hungry, overstressed presence were the occasional bouts of frantic self servicing that seemed to be increasing in frequency. Usually late at night when the rest of his bondmates were trying to sleep. First Aid was probably unaware they could sense him, but they most definitely were aware of him.

“I don’t even get what he’s self servicing for, we’re his gestalt and we’re right here,” Groove complained.

The four of them were huddled around the table at Swerves for an emergency group meeting. The meeting was about First Aid, but they’d not bothered to invite the mech on account of him missing the last three attempts at an intervention, one of them ending with a very tired, very petulant Ratchet shouting them down about harassing his medic.

“I think he gets off on it, the stress,” Blades muttered sourly as he took a swig of his drink, grimacing as the energex burned its way down his intake.

“I think all medics do, have you seen Ratchet?” Streetwise chuckled. “He seems like he’s either all work or all play.”

“I’m sure Drift would know all about that,” Groove sneered, before staring down glumly into his drink. “Wish Aid could learn to let loose like that. Feels like we haven’t seen him in a month.”

“It has practically been a month,” Blades growled, gripping his cube with worrying strength.

“Right,” Hot Spot said, finally rising from his corner of the table where he had been contemplating his energex quietly for the majority of their discussion. “We need to talk to Aid about this.”

“Yeah I want to talk to him,” Blades leered, and the husk that accompanied the word talk implied he wanted to do anything but.

Hot Spot held out his servo looking at his gestaltmate warningly, “Talk. As… irritating as his neglect of the bond is, what Aid doesn’t need is more stress. Or to feel guilted into something.”

“I just don’t get how he functions like this,” Groove moaned. “Constant underfueling, constant lack of recharge, constant stress.”

“Got no choice what with Hatchet breathing down his neck,” Streetwise chuckled amiably.

“Ratchet’s pretty good about not overworking his mechs if it isn’t absolutely necessary,” Hot spot put in sagely. “He’s a hardass but he’s not cruel and he wants to get the most mileage out of his medics.”

Before Hot Spot even had a chance to get to Ratchet’s medbay that week, there was an incident in one of the alien ports they had docked in. Defensor was needed to fight through the waves of irate aliens in the mood to execute Rodimus for some perceived slight that had apparently been dealt out during a game of cards gone sour.

First Aid had arrived, positively radiating exhaustion and irritation, and that feeling had only intensified when they combined. Something, they all immediately noticed, was off with Defensor.

His movements were sluggish, and his systems were running too hot for normal. Still they were able to do their job batting away hoards of aliens as the rest of the crew retreated back to the Lost Light and primed it’s engines for take off.

In the middle of a swing Defensor found itself breaking apart. Five groggy mecha found themselves sprawled on the ground in disarray as Rodimus shouted for them to “move their afts and get on board”.

Without much thought, Streetwise was scooping up a limp First Aid and sprinting with the rest of their gestalt up the ship ramp. The Lost Light was shooting off into space not a moment later.

“What in Primus was that?” Blades exploded, looking at a disheveled and frankly sickly looking First Aid. The medic looked positively wilted in Streewise’s grip. 

“Sorry,” First Aid mumbled distractedly.

“Aid, we need to talk about your personal maintenance and the gestalt bond,” Hot Spot tried gently.

“What? What do you mean?”

“He means we can feel it every time you’re under fueled,” Groove snapped.

“Or skipping out on recharge,” Blades added with a huff as he folded his arms across his chest.

“Or when you’re self servicing like a mad mech late at night,” Streetwise said, tone lightly teasing.

First Aid, instead of taking it like the light jab it was meant to be, looked positively mortified.

“Oh. Oh! I’ll- I’ll fix that right away,” he said, tone strained as his visor flashed with his distress. Then First Aid began to wriggle in Streetwise’s grip. “You can put me down now, Ratchet-.”

“Oh no, we’re having this conversation now,” Blades said sternly, but First Aid had already managed to get up on his two pedes and was hurriedly trotting off to the medbay.

“Gotta check if there were any casualties, we can discuss this later!” he called, voice fading with the distance.

“Frag,” Blades swore under his breath.

“He’s right, it’s best to let him attend to the wounded after a crisis than try to have this conversation now.”

“We’ve been putting off sorting this out a whole month,” Groove groaned,”what’s gonna be any different?”

“First Aid is going to be on leave fairly soon,” Hot Spot said, voice ominous. 

“He is?” three sets of optics turned to him as three voices asked the same question in unison.

“So you spoke to Ratchet about all this then?” Streetwise asked, expression mildly confused.

“Oh no, I haven't had the chance to yet. But trust me on this,” Hot Spot said with a wry smile. “Aid will be on leave by the end of the week.”

The week as it was, was quiet. First Aid’s side of the bond was dead, it hadn’t taken long for his gestaltmate’s to realize the reason why.

“When I complained about catching all that slag from his end of the bond,” Groove began frustratedly. “I wanted him to fix that slag, not just shut us out.”

“Yeah this is,” Streetwise drummed his digits on the table worriedly. “Actually a little worse.”

“Well Hot Spot seems to know something we don't, so hopefully he gets that leave soon,” Blade’s sighed as he picked up his cube. And then immediately put it down at the sound of his comm chime.

“Frag” Blades swore as he listened to the comm.

“That wouldn’t happen to be the one from Ratchet about Aid collapsing in the medbay?” Streetwise asked as Blades looked up to see both him and Groove had flashing comm lights.

“That’s the one,” Blades nodded.

The three of them sat quiet and still for a moment before they lurched out of their seats and barreled down the corridors to the medbay. When they arrived to the medbay it was to First Aid leaning against a medical berth looking wan and pained while a distraught and irate looking Ratchet read him the riot act about Primus knows what. Hot Spot was lingering by Aid’s side, not touching him, but just looking down at his teammate with soft concern.

“Oh good,” Ratchet turned to the group and pointed one digit bluntly at them. “Take him out of here and don’t bring him back until he’s in working order. Don’t care if it’s a day. Don’t care if it’s a week.”

First Aid was sliding down onto the floor looking a mix of flustered, distraught and his end of the bond which had opened in his surprise at seeing his gestalt, sent a roiling wave of arousal through it.

“Oh that's why you’ve been self servicing like mad every other night,” Blades announced loudly much to First Aid’s humiliation.

“Blades-,” the medic tried to interrupt.

“No please go on,” Ratchet said as he glared stonily at First Aid who withered under the old medic’s gaze. Ambulon was lurking in the background pretending to fill out a patient's chart, but Aid could see him smirking. Stupid fragger.

“I just thought it was due to stress, I had more stress, I needed more relief,” First Aid exclaimed as he looked pleadingly between the mecha in the room. If he was looking for pity, he got none. Hot Spot and Ratchet looked mildly disappointed by his self neglect, and the rest of his gestalt were looking at him with what would commonly be described as a leer.

“Alright,” Blades announced, moving towards him with Streetwise. Firm servos gripped his arms on either side. “Up you go.” And Aid was lifted back to his pedes. He tried to shrug off his gestaltmates’ grips but they held fast.

“Nuh uh,” Blades snorted. “Ratch said you’re on leave, so we’re leaving.”

And they were. Streetwise and Blades hardly let him walk, his pedes dragging along the hallway as they went. Groove and Hot Spot followed after, Hot Spot giving Ratchet a nod and a small mouthed “thank you”, before turning and going.

“Where are we going?” First Aid was going for demanding but it really only came out as defeated and a near whine. Primus he did not feel good. His panels were disturbingly wet, his helm was fuzzy, and his spark felt overcharged and prickly inside its casing.

“Our quarters, where do you even recharge lately, by the way?” Blades asked as they approached their shared hab suite.

“Medical cots,” First Aid grunted. “Put me down, we’re here.”

“Don’t run off again,” Streetwise prodded as he let Aid down and then turned the handle of their door.

“First off, I didn’t run off,” First Aid said huffily. “You all wanted to talk bond issues during a crisis.”

“A crisis,” muttered Groove. “I’ll show you a crisis.”

“Alright, alright, enough bickering, the lot of you. Aid, the gestalt bond is out of calibration, particularly on your end. If anything made that clear it was the last time we formed Defensor and your collapse today. All we’re going to ask is that you join a group merge. If you have things to do after that, you’re welcome to it.”

“Will that fix my frame?” First Aid asked faintly as he allowed his gestalt to usher him in and herd him over to one of their berths. 

“Should at least take the edge off it. You’re experiencing pseudo heat symptoms due to gestalt protocols,” Hot Spot explained wearily, as he allowed his own chest plates to slide open. “A merge should at least have your spark feeling normal.”

Aid nodded as he looked around to see his gestaltmates similarly opening their own spark chambers, and after only a moment's hesitation he did the same. His spark was crackling with energy, abnormally spikey in its form.

“Aid you can’t do this again,” Hot Spot was saying sternly. “We let it go this time because it’s important for you to have your own autonomy outside the gestalt, but I hope you understand it is not wise to ignore programming that has the ability to interfere with your frame’s continued functioning.”

First Aid nodded weakly as he leaned forward to merge his spark with Hot Spot’s sparking off their group merge. Deep down he had known. Had felt a subtle wrongness at ignoring his gestalt, had felt the pull to tend to the other four, and let them tend to him. Part of him chafed at that. Strove to push against it, mech over bond.

He told himself he’d stop at the merge. That he could just sleep things off and get back to the medbay and prove to Ratchet and Ambulon that he was perfectly capable-

But then Blade’s processor seemed to not so much drift as lazer pinpoint on the idea of licking his servos and finding out if that rumor about medic’s sensitivity was really true. Which got Streetwise thinking about his valve and Groove thinking about his aft and with three horny mech flooding the merge with their wants and desires surrounding First Aid, it wasn’t long before Hot Spot was pulsing with want as well, though he was much more reserved and kept his contributions to the bond abstract.

Feeling himself growing wet behind his panels and the tip of his spike coming out to rub against-

First Aid jerked himself away from the others, causing a four way wince as his spark separated from theirs without warning. Trying to ignore his systems demands for interface now was like trying to ignore a burning house fire. The prickly sensation in his spark chamber had been replaced by the burning need of his array.

“Frag,” Aid cursed as he denied a request to open both his panels.

“Come on Aid, just take a few days off like Ratch asked you to,” Streetwise murmured in his audial, and First Aid jolted. When had he gotten so close?

First Aid tried to pull up reasons that would potentially excuse him from not taking recommended time off but came up empty handed. At last he just threw a helpless glance towards Hot Spot for any last objections before he gave in to the very clear want that was still pulsing towards him through the bond.

He offline his visor a moment and sighed.

“Alright.”

Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth several sets of servos were upon him and Blades was lifting him into his lab. Almost immediately First Aid’s servos were on his rotors, running along the blades and back down to toy with his main rotor.

“You’re weird Aid, you have a Heli fetish,” Blades tried to snort as he stifled a groan. “Anyways, gimme one of those. Why don’t we swap frame fetishes.”

With that Blades was prying one of First Aid’s servos off his blade and without much further ado was sucking it into his mouth, laving over the fine seams with his gloassa. First Aid jerked back with an audible gasp, removing his digits from Blades’ mouth.

His array was throbbing from the bare bit of contact and he found his panel was open without him even remembering to send the command. A servo was quickly snaking between his legs, pushing up through the slick dripping out of his valve. Aid felt a warm chassis pressing against his back.

“You’re pretty wet already huh? Makes sense, it’s been a while,” Streetwise purred in his audial as those digits teased at his valve lips, toying with the rim and his node, light enough so that Aid couldn’t get any real satisfaction.

Blades picked up his digit again and was sucking it back into his mouth.

First Aid bit his lip in a futile attempt to suppress his groan.

“Just put it in!” Aid snapped at Streetwise, as the tingling in his valve was now roiling up to a frustrating burn. Streetwise snickered, but obeyed, pressing a blunt digit into First Aid.

It was moments later when he realized that he had offlined his optics and seemingly his processor, because Streetwise was two digits deep in his valve and Blade was borderline trying to deep throat one of his servos and Primus he was going to- he was gonna-

A breathy little whimper sounded throughout the room as First Aid’s overload pulsed through the bond and he ground down on the digits inside him. With his overload came an immense wave of relief as the tension in his frame flaked off like Ambulon’s bad paint job. He could feel wires he hadn’t realized had been seized up start to uncoil, and some of the strut deep aches of his frame eased.

In short, Primus it felt good. He could feel his gestaltmates nudging at him as he reveled in his pleasure, but he just did his best to tune out the smug feeling of “I told you so” that radiated back at him through the bond.

“Okay, enough, I need him on me, or me in him, or something,” Blades growled as he pulled off Aid’s digits. His servo trailed down to his panel as it slid aside and out popped his spike, looking heavy and slick, a bead of lubricant trailing down the side.

“You want a taste?” he purred at First Aid, whose optics were locked on the appendage. First Aid didn’t respond, just crawled forward on his servos and knees, aft up. As he was bringing himself down on Blade’s spike, he felt his hips being shifted back slightly as something warm and wet nosed at his valve, and then without much more warning, nudged its way in.

First Aid groaned around Blade’s spike. 

“Oh frag, if you do that I’ll be overloading in seconds,” Blades groaned. First Aid merely hummed his assent and Blade’s gave him a little buck in response. 

“Frag, do that again, he gets tighter when you frag his throat,” Streetwise groaned. Blades nodded, biting his lip as he thrust into Aid’s mouth again shallowly. That started an uneven shaky rhythm between them. 

It wasn’t much time at all before Blades overloaded down First Aid’s throat, his pleasure triggering Streetwise’s and then their combined sensation flowing into First Aid and causing his valve to clamp down on the hot spike still inside him and overload.

Streetwise didn’t seem to be done with him yet though, pulling him into his lap to put him on display for the rest of the group. Groove, who had been quietly stroking himself off, moved forward to crowd First Aid between himself and Streetwise.

First Aid found his spike being squeezed by a rough servo, and then something warm and ridged was pressing against his spike. He looked down to see Groove gripping their spikes together.

“Frag Aid, you look so pretty like this,” Groove grunted as he began to thrust into his servo. “Missed you.” With that statement Groove was moving in to kiss Aid, licking his mouth for the remnants of Blades’ overload as his servo moved faster and faster. Embarrassingly quick they were both overloading, First Aid’s spike shooting a feeble little spurt of transfluid as his frame slumped exhaustedly against Streetwise. 

First Aid felt himself growing drowsy after the last overload, his visor offlined. He felt his frame being moved and then he was resting in a new lap, helm tilting back into a warm chest as servos trailed lightly over his frame. He was dimly aware of voices in the background, but his processor was tired and refused to translate them into actual understandable fragments of speech.

Then Hot Spot’s voice was in his audial.

“What do you think Aid, one more, for me?” came the low rumble and Aid shivered before nodding tentatively. Hot Spot’s mouth was on his as two large, rough digits pushed into his oversensitive valve, hooking to press up against a particular favorite spot of First Aid’s.

First Aid whimpered into his mouth as the feeling of too much grew in the pit of his tank while Hot Spot stroked that spot mercilessly.

“Shhh, good mech, you’re doing so well today First Aid, I’m very pleased,” Hot Spot murmured and pressed even more firmly into that spot, other servo coming up to thumb at first Aid’s node. It was with the barest pinch of his node that Aid found himself overloading, and with that last release his processor was soft crashing as well as the rest of his systems.

When he woke up he found that one, someone had disabled his alarm while he was in recharge, and two that he had slept halfway through the shift he’d hoped to make it to.

“Oh you’re up, drink this,” Blades was shoving a cube into his servos as First Aid muzzily tried to orient himself.

“My shift-,” Aid started.

“There is no shift,” Streetwise snorted. “Ratchet said to tell you if he sees you set foot in the medbay he’ll conk you over the helm with his wrench.”

“It’s healthy to take a break now and then,” A voice rumbled from under him. First Aid nearly leapt up out of his frame when he realized he had been dozing on his captain all night long. His gestalt shared a laugh at that.

“I suppose, it couldn’t hurt,” First Aid finally acceded, and let himself relax back onto Hot Spot’s frame, offlining his optics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was writing this fic and originally it was like, canon compliant, ambulon is dead, but then I was like "this is too weird to try and turn kinky, its not really kinktober oriented". SO I have 700 words of prewrite for another aid/his gestalt fic you will get when hell freezes over (aka idek but Its Coming Eventually)
> 
> Anyways, this fic ignores a lot of mtmte's canon. No Rook, no Ambulon dying, cause guys, let me tell you, I have a soft spot a mile wide for Ambulon and he got jipped in canon.
> 
> Rung/Ratchet ur next.


	9. Day 18- Humiliation Lockdown/Swindle

Lockdown was maybe a little pissed off. It was reasonable, when one’s business partner decided to frag you over and then make a run for it. He felt a low ache in his back where the fresh weld was. Swindle had, thankfully, missed just about everything vital. He sighed heavily and looked down at the cheekily grinning visage of said partner on the wanted notice he’d just sent out to every single one of his connections.

Swindle.

Things had really been getting out of hand with him lately, Lockdown was a bit ashamed to admit. They’d gotten caught up in the age old dance of will they, won’t they. And then Swindle had shot him in the back during a deal and bailed out with all the speed and dexterity the little rat was known for.

Worst thing was, at the end of it, Lockdown couldn’t even say he was all that surprised. It was fragging Swindle, of course he’d found himself screwed over. And he’d known, just fragging known, getting into this that he was getting too damn close and that Swindle knew it too.

Curious thing was, and the thing that had led him to let things go on for as long as they did, that Swindle didn’t seem to mind. Oh sure, he was nervous and twitchy about Lockdown getting close. About the fond touches and the long nights they spent together. About what it meant for two mercenaries for hire.

They were dead on their feet as soon as they got sentimental in this line of business and the both of them knew it. And yet here the two of them were, up to their processors in sentiment without a single way out.

Tracking him down wasn’t easy. Swindle knew when he had fucked up, and he knew how to pull a mighty fine disappearing act to wait for things to blow over. And Lockdown was struggling to think of a time when the snot had blown something as big as he’d blown this.

Finally, after weeks of searching, dropping shanix on leads that ran dead, he showed up to the one group of bots that definitely knew where he was. Their base was perched crookedly on the edge of a flat barren waste of a planet, with little else on it besides rocky cover and howling winds that kicked up dust in great billowing clouds.

“I suppose,” Onslaught said in a tired drawl, approaching the shadow leaning outside his base. There was a heavy drag to his step as he walked, as if the weight of his obligations physically wore down on him. “You’re wanting to know where Swindle is?”

“You gonna tell me?” Lockdown cocked an eyebrow as he sized up the gestalt lead. Onslaught looked at him unimpressed, folding broad arms across his chest.

“You going to kill him?”

“Thinkin about it,” Lockdown admitted, though a deeper part of him knew that wasn’t what he was after at all. Things had gotten far too unprofessional to be resolved so easily.

“No you’re not. Swindle knows it too,” Onslaught chuckled, agitation evaporating for one sparse moment, as he leaned against the same wall as Lockdown and looked him over.

“Yeah, why’s he hiding then?” Lockdown snapped. He knew lashing out at Onslaught was a poor idea, but he’d been running himself ragged trying to hunt down Swindle and he wasn’t in the mood to have things dangled in front of him. He’d basically been at a constant boiling point ever since he’d been screwed over.

“You know why, he’s a coward. Doesn’t like to pay his dues,” Onslaught said and there was something almost fond in his tone under all the layers of irritation. “Anyways, the gestalt is tired of being caught between you two.” The way Onslaught said it, Lockdown got the feeling he didn’t mean just their latest spat.

Onslaught drew closer to him, and Lockdown stood firm. When he was just an arm’s length away, Onslaught unsubspaced something and held it out to Lockdown. A data chip.

“Don’t kill him, we need him. Primus knows he’s not any use like this,” Onslaught muttered and then flicked the chip at Lockdown. Lockdown caught it and held it in his servo shifting it so he could look it over.

“He’ll never shut up about me ratting him out, so do me a favor. Settle whatever is between you two for good. Bruticus is barely functional on a good day, like this, it’s a wreck,” Onslaught huffed, before turning to retreat.

“Thanks,” Lockdown called after him. Onslaught merely raised a servo in acknowledgement and kept walking, receding back into the depths of their base.

Lockdown scanned the chip for anything suspicious, but it came up clean. He didn’t know whether to feel surprised or not. Sighing, he turned the chip over one more time in his servo before he plugged the it into his ship’s navigation system.

Location ended up being a little subterranean bunker on a dwarf planet a couple quantum jumps over from one of the biggest intergalactic casinos and not even a stone's throw from one of the biggest and most secure banks in the galaxy. Lockdown could not have been less surprised. He followed the chip’s beeping until it indicated he was directly on or above the desired location.

Lockdown scuffed around at the dirt, kicking it around until his pede clanged against something. Then he stopped down, scratching through the dirt to find the handle and prising it open. Sand ran in rivulets off the door as it opened with a rusty creak and Lockdown didn’t bother with the ladder or subtlety.

He jumped right through the opening and landed on the bunker floor with a slam that rattled the metal surface under him. Swindle was lounging in the corner, datapad in servo, and Lockdown watched as he leapt up from his previously relaxed position. The datapad landed on the floor with a clatter, but Swindle paid it no mind. He immediately plastered himself against the wall, as if trying to put as much distance between the two of them as possible. 

Frankly? Lockdown couldn’t blame him.

“Oh, eheh, L-lockdown. Don’t suppose you still have hard feelings about… last time?” Swindle was grinning at him nervously as Lockdown slowly approached, dragging his hook on the wall as he did. The action produced an unpleasant noise that set other mecha on edge. Swindle’s nerves seemed to be turning to outright panic at his approach.

Swindle was nimble, but he was boxed in and his advantage of speed and dexterity was all but null. He knew all too well that Lockdown could quite literally crush him in a fight.

So instead he tried what he had left, which was appealing to Lockdown’s long lost soft side with that toothy grin of his. Lockdown didn’t budge.

“Hard feelings. Yeah, I got feelings as hard as they come,” Lockdown glowered, stalking forward as the smaller mech scooted himself back up against the wall and flattened himself there.

“Well I don’t suppose there’s something I can do to make it up to you?” Swindle asked as his optics darted from side to side, looking for an alternate way out knowing all too well there wasn’t one. 

Typical.

“You can give me something,” Lockdown stared deep into his wide purple optics and leaned into his space as he said it. This close he could see the slight jitter to Swindle’s frame as it charged up with anxious energy.

“Give you something, yeah of course. Look, I can pay you back for last deal,” Swindle said, and he was actually looking at Lockdown now, optic to optic. Color him impressed. His optics were wide and pleading and he even looked a little sorry. As much as an exhaust sucking fragger like Swindle could look sorry.

“No, you can’t,” Lockdown said bluntly and Swindle’s expression dimmed a bit as fear retook it. “Trust don’t come that easy. You and me? We’re starting back over at ground zero. You blew this big Swin’,” Lockdown watched as he finished his sentence, how Swindle reacted. His large, insect like eyes grew even bigger as he shook his helm minutely and backed himself up against the wall. His mouth dropped open but not a sound came out for a moment.

“Come on Lockdown, you don’t mean that, a-after all we’ve been through?” He could feel it, the way Swindle was gripping for purchase, for any lick of leeway, any kind of leverage to wager. Leave it to Swindle to think he could negotiate his way down from the gallows.

“All, we’ve been through,” Lockdown snorted. “I don’t know about that, more like all you put me through. Only for you to turn around and put a bullet in my back soon as it’s convenient, eh?” 

“Eheh, look at you though! Good as new. I didn’t hit anything vital,” Swindle tried, his attempt at a confident grin slipping off his face as he saw the cut of Lockdown’s frown become deeper.

To be honest, Lockdown was surprised Swindle hadn’t tried to unsubspace a gun and shoot him again. He’d lose of course. He probably knew it, and that’s why the restraint. Lockdown saw far, far more combat in his line of business, and part of the reason their partnership was forged was because of that.

No one stole from Lockdown, and no one closed a deal better than Swindle. They’d been a good pair. And as his long time partner Swindle knew that a pissed off Lockdown tended to drag things out in ways that could make Tarn uneasy. He didn’t do it often, but when he did he was… creative.

Swindle had reaped a lot of benefit just by being able to claim Lockdown as his partner. Made mecha think twice about settling an unfair deal or debt with Swindle in a rash manner.

“I can make it up to you, you said I could give you something. What do you want?” Swindle’s voice was growing shaky with nerves, his polished salesman facade cracking as he realized it would get him absolutely nowhere. He probably thought Lockdown wanted to see him beg.

He was right.

“What can you give me?” Lockdown hummed thoughtfully, hook coming up to tap thoughtfully at his chin. He’d spent too long with Swindle perhaps, he’d gained the barest bit of a taste for showmanship now as well, it seemed. He paused his tapping a moment and looked directly at Swindle.

“You.”

Swindle blinked at him uncomprehending and then a slow, cautious smile eased its way across his face. It was greasy and sleazy as ever, though much more tepid than his usual over exaggerated smile.. He probably thought he had wiggle room.

“You mean you want to frag? That’s it?” Swindle’s optics were alight with hope and Lockdown watched him squirm a little in excitement at a punishment avoided.

“I don’t just want a frag, I want you to listen to me, everything I tell you. And at the end of it I’m gonna have you say you’re sorry. By the time I’m through with you, you’ll mean it or you’ll regret it,” Lockdown had dug his hook into the plating on Swindle’s shoulder and drug the mech in close as he growled out his promise. Swindle winced but otherwise his eagerness was undampened, though Lockdown could still feel him quivering this close to him.

“What do you say to that, huh Swin’?” He asked the question softly, almost affectionately. But Swindle wasn’t easily lulled into Lockdown’s false sense of security. He’d seen it all too often right before Lockdown moved in for the kill.

Swindle smiled shakily, “I uh, I don’t really get much choice do I?”

Lockdown stared at him a long moment, contemplatively. Onslaught’s stern but tired expression was drawn up in his mind. Then he sighed, unhooked himself from Swindle, letting the mech stumble back against the wall, “Course you do. Consider everything between you and me through. Over. We’re done.”

It was work. Shoving down the coil of rage and betrayal deep enough so that he let him go, turned around, and started walking. Putting an end to a very long vindictive streak and letting the tallies sit uneven.

“I’ll call off the bid on your name. Don’t call me for no favors,” Lockdown called without looking back, voice echoing hollowly around the bunker as he approached the ladder. 

“Hold- Hold on, wait,” Swindle’s voice called after him. Lockdown halted his retreat but didn’t turn. He heard a scuffling noise as Swindle made his way hurriedly over.

“I know, I know a good deal when I hear one,” Swindle’s voice drew nearer as the jeep cautiously stepped around to stand in front of Lockdown. “I want to make things good between us again. Can’t lose my best customer, can I?” Swindle tried his best winning smile, but it came out a little unsure and Lockdown’s face doesn’t move a muscle.

Finally, he relaxed and Swindle did in turn.

“I’m not making this easy for you,” Lockdown said lowly as he stooped down to get into Swindle’s face.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less but a hard bargain, from you,” Swindle nodded agreeably. “I know you, hard, but fair.”

“You want to tap out, the word’s ‘Shanix’. The one thing you care about more than anything else. Shouldn’t be too hard to remember,” Lockdown spat acidly as the well of emotions rose up once again to remind him how much that shot through the back had hurt, on more than just a physical level. 

Bitter? Yeah, he was bitter as dark energon. The reason why evaded him, or rather, he evaded it.

“Alright,” Swindle nodded, helm bobbing in exaggerated enthusiasm. Or maybe it wasn’t exaggerated. Maybe the little grifter was, for once, contrite. Lockdown would be evaluating that over the next bit of time.

“I’m gonna lay out the rules. First off, don’t open your panels until I say. Second, don't overload without permission. Third,” Lockdown unsubspaced something and threw it at Swindle. 

“Put that on,” he commanded.

Swindle stared at the collar and then back at Lockdown, expression looking like he was barely suppressing bursting out into laughter.

“You into this kind of thing?” Swindle asked, dangling the collar by a digit, crooked smile on his face.

“I’m into you listening to orders,” Lockdown growled. Some of Swindle’s mirth withered a little as he muttered “Alright, alright, sheesh.” He clipped the collar around his neck. He didn’t bother to comment on the fact it was purple and complimented his paint job rather well, as he got the idea that Lockdown didn’t particularly want to hear it.

“Good,” Lockdown said, drawing closer. He unsuspaced the leash and quickly clipped it onto Swindle. He tugged on it roughly as an experiment, nearly sending Swindle sprawling with the force he used.

Swindle caught himself with his servos outstretched and looked up at Lockdown, irritated and pouting slightly.

“You just want to see me suffer,” Swindle whined as he hooked a digit in the collar and tugged.

Lockdown couldn’t help the upward twitch of his mouth as he admitted, “I do.”

“I am sorry,” Swindle insisted, frame much more relaxed than it had been five minutes ago when he’d probably been counting the time he estimated he had left on his digits.

“Save it for when I ask,” Lockdown growled and tugged the leash again, pulling Swindle closer as he popped his panels. “Want me to stop, just tap my leg twice, got it?”

Swindle rolled his optics but nodded.

His spike came out, impending and about half hard. He was a bit too pissed off to find himself overly aroused by the situation. Two weeks ago? He’d have been rock hard.

“Suck it,” he commanded and Swindle, ever the spikesucker when something important was on the line, lurched forward to swallow him down. Swindle had a big mouth, and he was good at putting it to use in a variety of ways.

The way Lockdown near constantly caught him biting on something or chewing something haphazardly had made him wonder if Swindle had an oral fixation. He found that theory hard to deny as Swindle went to town on him, bobbing eagerly on his spike and making pleased hums as occasionally a stray bit of drool made its way out his mouth.

There was still the matter of the tight coil of anger in Lockdown’s fuel tank and it was with that on his mind that he gave the first thrust. Swindle gagged, given zero warning about the movement, but that did nothing but spur Lockdown on as he seized the collar to yank Swindle forward as he started to fuck his throat in earnest.

Swindle’s happy humming was gone now, replaced by gargled choking, and the dribble of drool had been upped to a full stream as his optics started to prick with tears. Lockdown fell into a rhythm of harsh thrusting and occasional yanks, enjoying the sound of Swindle’s struggle. 

He hadn’t even realized his optics had drifted closed until they snapped open at the sound of Swindle’s modesty panel coming unlatched.

“I never said I wanted that,” Lockdown glared down at the exposed spike and before Swindle could apologize or tuck it back away, he was stepping on it, lightly of course. He didn’t actually want to maim Swindle, as peeved as he was at the stupid mech. But he couldn’t say he wasn’t enjoying the way Swindle’s face twisted up in agonized pleasure as he pressed his spike into the floor and ground it a little.

Swindle pulled off his spike, or tried to. Feeling merciful, Lockdown let him, loosening his grip on the collar. 

“Oh Lockdown, oh Primus, please,” Swindle begged, though neither of them really knew what for. Lockdown supposed it was enough to see him beg. He pressed down harder and with a feeble sounding squeal and a half choked sob Swindle overloaded on the floor, transfluid shooting out across the metal.

“First you don’t listen to me when I say keep your panels locked, then you overload without permission. That’s two rules and we’ve barely started,” Lockdown chastised as he looked at the heaving mech under him. “You must not want to make things up to me all that much,” Lockdown said mockingly and watched as Swindle jolted up in alarm.

“I do! I do, I really do,” Swindle pleaded, edge of desperation in his voice. Lockdown couldn’t tell if the desperation came from him not wanting to lose out on their partnership, or because Swindle was worked up over the situation. Maybe it was a bit of both.

“Clean it up then,” Lockdown was pointing to the puddle of transfluid on the floor. Swindle glanced at it and then looked back at him. Lockdown jerked his head at the mess in a “get going” gesture.

Swindle drug himself over to the pool of transfluid and looked at it hesitantly.

“Longer you wait, the worse it’s gonna taste.”

“You have experience eating cum off the floor then?” Swindle sneered, docile facade at last breaking. Swindle had pride, a lot of it, and Lockdown knew it was only a matter of time before he swallowed all he could take. Lockdown leered right back and a maniac part of him grinned when he saw Swindle’s expression falter at his menace.

It’d been a long, long while since Swindle had really, truly been on the wrong side of his temper. Lockdown got the feeling he was starting to realize that. The soft cushion of their built upon trust and camaraderie was stripped bare and now Swindle was getting a firm reminder of what it was like to be unsure of where he stood with Lockdown and how dangerous that was.

“I got experience in dealing with foul mouthed worms like you,” Lockdown snarled and before Swindle could process it, his face was in the puddle of fluid, the stuff quickly smearing across his cheek and dangerously close to his intake.

“Eat it,” Lockdown growled. He was leaning over him, spike hard now, and rubbing in between the mesh lips of his valve. One devious servo slipped down to pinch at his node and Swindle jolted under him, scrabbling for purchase against the mix of pleasure and pain assaulting his oversensitive array.

“Things get easy as soon as you start listening Swin’,” Lockdown promised and with another pinch from Lockdown and defeated half whimper from Swindle, he got to work. Lockdown was right, as he often was. The transfluid was much worse cold and had a slimier quality going down his intake that made him gag. 

As he licked, he felt Lockdown slip a digit or two into his valve and start to finger him open absentmindedly. Occasionally he twisted his digits cruelly or pinched the mesh of Swindle’s valve. Swindle’s node was hot and throbbing from the abuse and a part of him wanted Lockdown to touch it again, in any manner. 

His whole frame felt overheated and sluggish and a part of him really just wanted to press himself against the floor and spread his legs-. Swindle continued to lick even when he wasn't sure there was anything left, until Lockdown eased up off him. 

Lockdown’s spike was still hard, so hard it ached. As he let off Swindle a bit and looked him over, he realized the seething anger had largely left him as he watched Swindle for once come down off his pedestal.  
Lockdown gripped Swindle’s limp spike, and started to rub the oversensitive appendage slowly. Seemingly have regained some sense of dignity, Swindle tried to stifle a moan as Lockdown began focusing his attention on the head of the spike, rubbing it in slow, maddening circles. He bore down on Swindle as he started to squirm and then pant, not letting him escape his attentions.

“Now I’m gonna ask you one time, and don’t you try any of that smart talking garbage. I want the truth. Why’d you do it,” Lockdown pulled Swindle back by the collar, listening to the mech’s choked intakes for a moment before letting off so that he could speak.

“You know why,” Swindle wheezed as he struggled to even out his vents. Lockdown gripped his spike and twisted slightly, the friction turning from pleasant to a low burn alarmingly quick, and threatening to escalate to outright pain.

“Refresh my memory,” Lockdown said, tone dropping to a dangerous quality.

“At the start you said we weren’t going to get attached,” Swindle muttered so low that it took Lockdown a moment to make out what he’d said.

“Attached, we’re nothing of the kind,” he denied even though a part of him, the part he hated most, jerked in opposition to that statement. He’d gotten weak over the years. He’d been told the isolation of being a bounty hunter would get to him eventually, cause him a slip up sooner or later. Sooner or later he’d get attached, and then he’d either have to kill or get killed.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Swindle snorted. Lockdown’s servo itched to grab the collar and yank but he ignored it. His servo gripped Swindle’s spike but didn’t do anything else. “You aren’t my gestalt. You don’t need me. Which means when you run your use of me, you’ll have no problem disposing of me,” Swindle hunched over himself a bit as he said it.

“And you thought shooting me would solve that,” Lockdown said in disbelief. It was a dumb plan for an admittedly usually smart mech.

“I wasn’t thinking, it just hit me I was in too deep and I panicked,” Swindle exploded, throwing out his servos in exasperation.

“In too deep,” Lockdown repeated, voice growing thoughtful.

“Sometimes the only way out of a bad situation is to dig yourself deeper in,” Lockdown said after a long silence in which he mulled over his options.

“Yeah?” Swindle said, tilting his head up to look at Lockdown.

“Yeah, open up,” Lockdown tapped on Swindle’s chest and the mech looked down at where his digits indicated and then back up at him in disbelief. 

“You’re fragging joking,” Swindle gawked at him a moment and shook his head. 

“I don’t trust anyone, and neither do you, for good reason. But if we do this, we can settle each other’s intentions once and for all,” Lockdown said stiffly. He knew what he was proposing was bordering on insane. But then again, being partners with, relying on, trusting Swindle, was insane to begin with.

He’d clearly not been right in the processor for a while. And the way he figured things were going, why start now?

“My gestalt-,” Swindle began.

“One spark merge does not make a bond. Onslaught told me to fix whatever’s screwed us up so bad. This is what I got. Take it or leave it,” Lockdown folded his arms across his chest as Swindle chewed his lip in concentration. It was the same look he got whenever someone drove a particularly hard bargain and he was trying to weigh out whether what it would net him was worth it.

Finally, panels folded open and a soft glow emitted throughout the room. Lockdown peered at Swindle’s spark, leaning in closer, only for the mech to skitter back nervously.

“I’d have killed you by now if I was going to,” Lockdown muttered, but didn’t pursue Swindle. Instead he opened up his own chest plates and it was Swindle’s turn to look at his spark with unguarded curiosity. 

Without warning, and before Swindle could get the chance to back out, Lockdown hooked a servo around Swindle’s waist, drug him in close and pressed their two sparks together. Their mutual senses exploded in a swirl of emotions, thoughts and memories.

Lockdown felt a tidal wave of fear swamp him as Swindle panicked into the merge. He held them firm, servo trailing down to grip his and Swindle’s spikes together and stroke. He felt Swindle reaching out through the merge, searching, digging around in his spark for something he couldn’t find.

Relief flooded the merge at the same time trepidation entered it.

“Will you just relax,” Lockdown said lowly as he jerked Swindle and himself off faster, feeling their overloads approaching. He hadn’t realized how worked up he’d gotten over the time they’d been together.

“Ain’t got nothing to hide from you Swin, haven’t for a while,” Lockdown said, and though his tone was matter of fact, Swindle could feel the earnestness and begrudging affection of the statement though the bond.

Lockdown searched the bond briefly. Swindle had about seven backup plans for how to kill him if things went sour, but they all seemed contingent on Lockdown himself betraying Swindle. Lockdown tiring of his company. Lockdown finding someone better, someone more compatible. Lockdown pulsed his irritated disbelief at Swindle as he squeezed them both in his grip and felt the anxiety and paranoia from Swindle dim as pleasure washed through the bond.

Swindle gave first, his spike spurting a long line of transfluid all over lockdowns servo. But the feedback made short work of Lockdown himself and when they pulled apart, the both of them were slightly sticky with transfluid. Swindle slumped back against the wall and Lockdown did the same alongside him.

“You still mad?” Swindle asked tentatively, tracing the patterns across Lockdown’s chest as the two of them wound down. Lockdown resisted the urge to swat his servo off as his resentment gave a few last dying throes and then dissipated as he glanced at the bot next to him. Swindle’s optics gleamed as he looked at him expectantly.

He’d lost every game of poker he’d ever played against Swindle. Never had been able to pin down exactly how the little cheat was doing it either. Looking at him now, with his tentative smile and his stupidly smug face, Lockdown realized he’d be continuing his losing streak. Lockdown let out a long, resigned sigh.

“Nah.”

“So we’re partners again?” Swindle asked this question even more timidly than the last and then stared at Lockdown with wide optics, awaiting his response with baited breath.

“Partners,” Lockdown snorted, not bothering to move his arm from over his optics. “Is that what we are?”

Swindle shrugged with all the carefree swagger he usually carried. “It’s the best I got for now. Take it or leave it.”

Lockdown let out a long, resigned sigh. “I’ll take it. But don’t think I won’t be back negotiating for more later.”

Swindle sat up, cheeky grin in place as he looked down at Lockdown’s lax form.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My girlfriend made this joke for me so I drew it with the actual characters lmao https://twitter.com/newbandnamethx/status/1350381656188702720
> 
> Anyways have this mess of a fic lmao. I know I said spinkrok but this one bit me first so /shrug. we'll see what ends up on here next. Only 13 more chapters lolol.


	10. Day 19- Hatesex Magnus/Megatron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This sex isnt like, super hateful, its just kinda rough lmao.

It had been a rather infuriating day for Magnus, which was seemingly every day on board the Lost Light with Rodimus in the co-captain’s seat. Magnus was twitchy, as he often was after a long day of flagrant misbehavior. There were skid marks all along the walls after an unofficial racing event had apparently been held, using the halls of the Lost Light as their race track. As if that wasn’t enough of a nuisance, someone had spilled energon all over his desk, ruining several datapads full of work, and then to top it all off Rodimus was late to their command meeting by nearly half an hour, rendering Magnus tightly planned schedule for the day moot.

He’d spent most of the meeting chewing Rodimus out for the events of the day, and when all Rodimus had to offer him in return was a “sorry Mags” and a half hearted shrug before darting out of the room when Magnus cracked the datapad he was holding in frustration just as he heard a rattling explosion sound somewhere else in the ship.

Upon investigation it was discovered that Brainstorm had miscalculated some experiment involving a substance Magnus had confiscated from him no less than three times. He had zero clue how the teal mech kept reattaining or refabricating it, and neither did his lab partner, it was revealed after Magnus interrogated Perceptor. The microscope seemed taken aback by Magnus’ abnormally aggressive behavior, and Megatron couldn’t blame him.

As the two of them walked back from the labs towards Magnus’ office, Magnus ranted the whole way,

“He is just- I am just,” Magnus stopped himself for a moment trying to collect his thoughts and dispel some of the roiling anger in his field, it was practically radiating in waves of fury off his frame.

“Do you want to talk about it, or do you want to work it off,” Megatron asked, small quirk to his lips as he propositioned him. It had been a few times now, the two of them, together. Megatron was one of the few mecha around that he could really get rough with without fear of breaking him, and the only mech that he trusted enough to be discreet and also happened to share a mutual attraction with.

Not that Magnus was the type for one night stands, but he’d come to a crossroads where he had a frankly undeniable amount of feelings for Megatron but to make it anything approximating official would be insane. The ship’s harmony was fragile enough as it was. So they were down to this not quite friends with benefits ordeal. They weren’t exclusive but Magnus didn't want anyone else and Megatron didn’t seem to have many choices himself or an interest in pursuing them.

“I just,” Magnus sighed, letting his emotions dwindle down to the stewing roiling boil that they were near constantly at. “Nevermind, I’m alright now,” he sighed with a look of dull resignation crossing his face.

“I was the one who spilled energon on your datapads,” Megatron said with a mild smile of amusement.

Magnus looked up at him slowly, irritation blooming across his strong features, arriving at the horizons of his face like a slow rolling thundercloud, ominous in its presentation and distant promise of destruction.

“You?”

“I saw it got on your datapads, but I left it, figured you were used to picking up Rodimus’ messes, so why not mine? Seems like you almost enjoy it,” Megatron punctuates his little admission with a smug smile and Magnus feels his optic twitch.

“You- you- That took me hours,” Magnus near snarled, hands curling into fists as he practically loomed over Megatron, unintentionally backing the other mech against his desk. Unintimidated and his smirk growing steadily, Megatron allowed himself to be corralled. 

“Yes but you seem to revel in tedium and I had other things to attend to like supervising the drag racing event at Swerves,” Magnus chassis is pressing into his as his optics widen in shock and then narrow in anger. 

“You orchestrated that?”

“I figured it could boost ship morale,” Megatron shrugged. “Consider it boosted.”

“Did you even read the report I sent out about the extensive damages-,” Magnus was practically shaking now, servos planted on either side of him as his optics were blown wide with fury, his field was stifling, and every inch of his frame screamed “barely restrained murder”.

“As if I read your reports, you practically say the same things in the daily meetings anyways” Megatron snorted. That little tidbit had been, word for word a quote of Rodimus’ and Megatron watched Magnus’ face twist in fury the exact same way it had the first time Rodimus’ had said it. The only exception being it was maybe about ten times more intense this time around. Then he looked up at Magnus, eyebrows raised, and asked nonchalantly, “So, about that frag.”

With a near guttural snarl Magnus’ field seemed to explode across his own and Megatron found his joints locking up as Magnus’ field meshed with and then dominated his own.

“Nice technique,” Megatron commented calmly. He would’ve looked over his shoulder if he could, but absolutely no part of his frame was responding to him at this particular moment. “Had no idea you were so adept at field manipulation.”

“Tell me if you don’t want this,” Magnus rumbled, low and threatening in his audial. A final warning before the onslaught, a last way out. Or at least, the illusion that it was. Megatron knew Magnus far too well to know his deep rooted self control would never be lost to something as petty as an abnormally chaotic day aboard the Lost Light.

Magnus was however, all too fragged off about the events of the day, and Megatron was all too willing to have him exert some of that frustration on himself. Deep down, both of them were aware of that fact on some level. As he found himself smothered with the tension and almost feral edge of Magnus’ field, Megatron realized that, as nice as the gentle, thorough touches of Magnus could be, he’d been craving this.

“Oh,” Megatron purred, “I want this, I deserve it.”

He found himself shoved onto his front, chassis scraping across the smooth surface of Magnus’ desk as he heard the little snick of his panel open and felt something slick and hot press against his own interface panel.

“Open it,” Magnus commanded, lips next to his audial, letting out a puff of warm exhaust. Megatron did readily, and two thick fingers were pushed into his valve roughly. Even quaking with rage and radiating the intent to frag him into his office desk, Magnus was still ever the gentleman.

It was admirable, it really, really was.

His fingers stretched him and the burn was pleasant, it set nodes in his valve on fire as Magnus roughly fingered him open, working his calipers until they loosen. The time spent prepping him is brief, they’ve discussed it. 

Megatron prefers it that way. Prefers to feel his valve stretch and ache as Magnus works himself in. On good days, slow relaxing ones where Magnus is in a good mood, he likes to eat him out a bit before he spikes Megatron. Or spend his time rubbing his anterior node until Megatron feels like he could have overloaded three times. That was diligent, patient Magnus.

The Magnus he had now was pushing in, earning him a grunt from Megatron. His hips stilled but when Megatron offered no further protest, no request for more preparation or a gentler pace. 

“Magnus,” Megatron near glowered, pushing back at the spike in his valve and squeezing down viciously. “Think of how much work your going to be redoing tomorrow. How many hours of wasted-.”

Finally, finally, his goading seemed to earn him something in the form of a rough first thrust in, followed in quick succession by another, and another. Goading words quickly left Megatron’s processor as the slick noises of their interface filled the room, and large, warm hands came around his waist to pull him back on Magnus’ spike.

His grunts quickly turned to moans and on occasion Magnus’ field still rippled across his, keeping his frame pliant and immobile as Magnus had his way with him. Megatron caught snatches of Magnus’ mutterings as he was fraged but his processor wouldn’t focus well enough to catch a whole sentence.

“Irresponsible-.” 

“Of all the things, a drag race?”

“My office? Whatever reason-.”

A part of him would find this all deeply amusing and endearing later, he was sure, but for now, there was an overload coiling in his array and he spoke, voice coming out much more roughly than he intended.

“Frag, Magnus touch my node,” Megatron ground out as he found himself bumping up against the frustrating edge of his own arousal. He wanted to grind his spike against the desk, rub at his own node, but Magnus’ field was still immobilizing him, tight and constraining.

“You come on my spike or not at all, those are the rules, co-captain,” Magnus husked lowly in Megatron’s audial as his hips slammed into him. Still, a part of Magnus was merciful and his angle shifted a bit, his spike pressing up and grinding against Megatron’s ceiling node in just such a way that within a few punishing thrusts, Megatron was overloading wetly on his spike, the slick lubricant sliding out of his valve and down his thighs. He was drooling onto the desk, oral lubricant pooling around his face as the waves of his overload crashed around him.

“Oh Primus, Magnus,” Megatron groaned. Magnus’ thrusts only seemed to get harder and more jagged after that, fucking him through his overload as he reached one of his own, spilling into Megatron’s clenching valve.

He pulled out, leaving Megatron’s valve a twitching, swollen mess, transfluid dribbling out after his spike was removed. His field had relaxed during his overload, and Megatron found himself rubbing at the abused lips of his valve.

“Too rough?” Magnus questioned, light concern displayed across his features.

“Perfect actually,” Megatron sighed, allowing his optics to offline for a few moments.

“Were you really the one who spilled energon on my paperwork? I knew the rest wasn’t you, but that one seemed kind of believable,” Magnus asked after both of them had come down from their post overload high and also regained a bit of coherence.

“Oh no, it was Rodimus for sure, I warned him several times while he was fiddling around in your chair,” Megatron snorted as he turned over on his back, propping himself up to look at Magnus. “I just didn’t want you stowing all your emotions down, and was in the mood for a hard frag. I have, however, now spilled something else on your desk,” Megatron said with a huff of amused laughter, looking at the puddle of his own lubricant mixed with that of Magnus’ transfluid. 

Megatron chuckled. “Haven’t been fragged like that for a while,” he snorted. “Maybe not since the pits. I read your report as well. Your details including all the areas of damage will be quite useful. I’ll personally have Rodimus scrub those skid marks off every inch of the Lost Light tomorrow.”

“That,” Magnus said, extending a servo to Megatron and helping pull him off the desk to a wobbly stand when he accepted it. “Would be delightful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ill be posting some more chapters today when I wake up, I've got a Starbee thing for day one thats mostly done and who knows what other prompts ill finish, if you've requested something of me, I've started it, I just didn't have much time to write this week, so I'll be doing a bit of catchup today.
> 
> Check ch 1 for taken days, links to prompts in regards to making a request!


	11. Day 20- Creampie Vortex/First Aid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for coercion/dubious consent

First Aid could admit when he was in deep. 

He was in deep.

It had started out simple. Vortex had always had a peculiar sort of interest in him. He wasn’t sure why. He’d patched up the decepticon a few times in passing. But pit, he’d patched up about everyone on both sides by now it felt like.

He’d even dealt with passing crossfaction interest before. The crushes were fleeting and tended to fade out over time and with a couple gentle nudges and blatant statements of disinterest from First Aid himself. Most Decepticons and Autobots alike seemed to get the hint.

And then there was Vortex. Persistent, irritating, sometimes downright terrifying, Vortex. He’d long ago stopped telling his gestalt about his interactions with Vortex. The way the enemy helicopter sought him out on the battlefield, cornered him in small, tight spaces for intimate talks, or left him gifts in the form of certain vital parts from mecha that had done him harm.

First Aid tended to skip those details in his field reports. He had long ago learned that telling the truth was, by far, the more tedious option. His gestalt didn’t particularly like that he was being courted by a hobbyist serial killer.

It had caused them to panic, and left him with an overbearing nanny following him around the battlefield while he tried to work.Usually in the form of either Blades or Streetwise, but on the worst occasions, he’d even been saddled by Hot Spot himself, looking over his shoulder as he got his servos soaked in energon. If he had wanted to feel the hot breath of his supervisor on the back of his neck as he worked, he would still be working under Ratchet. 

So it had been a while since he’d been telling his gestalt the truth about his interactions with Vortex, and it would be a while still by the looks of things. The other mech had been trying to cajole him into clandestine interactions for a while, and First Aid had ardently refused.

He’d expected, after a bit, that Vortex would get impatient, or even violent with him, and when that happened he was ready to come clean and ask his gestalt for help. The mech after all, was known for his love of spilling energon and indulging in his victims' screams. Vortex had become something of a legend, a bare bit of folklore on the battlefield, infamous in his barely there sanity and bloodlust, as well as for his rather creative torture methods and the grotesque cadavers they left behind.

But curiously, that was not the side he’d ever shown to First Aid. Just gentle, half joking prodding of the medic. Maybe a tease about his pacifistic nature. The barest brush to his arm, but nothing more. He allowed First Aid his space whenever the medic stepped back to put distance between them.

In short, Vortex was a small issue on a very long list filled with more pressing issues.

He didn’t think much of it when he got captured. They’d slammed him over the back of his helm, and that had hurt, and was still aching by the time he’d come back online, servos bound together above his helm as he dangled in the back of a crowded transport of some kind. He sighed to himself. There would be a hostage trade, or bargaining over energon, and then he’d be back with his gestalt and-

“Thinking about selling this shipment to Tarn,” he heard one of his jailers say from somewhere in the front of the transport.

“Oh primus,” one of the mechs next to him whispered.

“Tarn, what does going to Tarn mean?” First Aid asked in a hushed tone. Sure he’d heard of Tarn, the leader of the Decepticon’s internal house cleaning service but really, how bad could-

“It means they’re going to melt us down for scrap, is what it means,” a mech across from him spat, looking old, rusted over, and particularly bitter about it.

First Aid’s spark seized, melted down? Oh no, oh no, no, no, no. His processor shut off coherent thought for a moment just so it could revel in the agony of pure panic, and just as First Aid was going to try and draw a wheezy calming breath, the transport lurched to a sudden halt, and his body was jolted sideways, slamming into the mech next to him.

“Sorry,” he said miserably.

“Well, we’ll see about Tarn, depends on if Swin’s feeling generous today or not,” the mech up front said to his partner, as he slid out of the transport and walked around towards the back.

“Swindle, being generous? Fat chance,” the mech in the passenger side snorted.

Suddenly the transport doors were thrown open and First Aid’s spark seized with an emotion approximating hope. There in the entrance, backlit by the daylight behind him streaming in, and looking as angelic as his sort could be, was Swindle. He stepped into the transport, just barely, optics squinting as they adjusted to the dimness.

He eyed the transport. His optics alighted on First Aid for a split second, optics widening in surprise before he quickly masked the emotion, expression turning calculating and sly.

“You interested or not?” The driver of the transport gruffed. Swindle tapped his chin.

“I don’t see much of interest, so hmm…. Eh. What the heck. Onslaught has been saying we could use a few laborers on hand in the energon mines. I’ll take the lot for two thousand shanix.”

“Two thousand, are you out of your greed addled processor? That’s barely two hundred a head, I’d get triple that easy from Tarn,” the jailer standing next to him said, looking half-heartedly insulted by the offer. 

“I know your type,” Swindle’s voice dropped low and smooth. “You don’t really want to make it all the way out to Tarn. You want your cash fast so you can make it out to one of the galactic speakeasies and have yourself a time. Right? Right. And don’t try to fool me, I know you’ll be saving a fortune in the fuel it takes to get out to Tarn’s little hovel.”

Swindle’s gaze flicks to First Aid distractedly as he asks, “So? What do you say? Two thousand shanix and you start your vacation early, until you wind up with the next lot,” Swindle flashes him a winning grin as he finishes speaking, clearly assured of his own charm.

The driver seemed to mull it over for a moment. 

“Tempting,” he said after a long moment. “But no deal.”

“That’s too bad,” Swindle said, grin dimming as he tapped something disinterestedly into his comm on his wrist before turning back to the driver, who was starting to turn away. In an instant Swindle has unsubspaced a gun and fired three shots into the mech’s turned back. The other jailer up front quickly hauls himself out of the passenger seat and takes off running.

Swindle watches him as he goes, attempts to aim at him and then lowers the gun with a sigh, opening his comm again and this time speaking into it. “No- yeah-. Listen, idiot,” he hisses, face twisting up in annoyance at the apparent barrage coming through on the other end. “I’ve got the transport secure, your little lovebot is safe. Go do cleanup, he’s headed out East. Looks like a grounder. Either unarmed, or too stupid to use his gun.”

With that Swindle closes his comm, stops to frisk the body of the dead mech, subspaces a few items of interest, and then approaches the transport, making a beeline straight to First Aid.

“No keys, other guy must have them. Gonna see if I remember how to hack these things,” Swindle said casually by way of greeting.

“Swindle,” First Aid looks at the combaticon with distaste. “I knew you’d do anything for a few shanix, but even I thought you had your reservations.”

“I don’t traffic in mecha,” Swindle said, mild sneer crawling across his face at the thought. “Too messy, too morally reprehensible, too much time spent listening to bots whine about what they’ll give you if you let them go.”

“A lot of experience in the trade then?” First Aid sniped bitterly. His servos were starting to ache from hanging so long.

“No but an ex of mine has,” Swindle said with a dry chuckle. At last Swindle seemed to get the stasis cuffs open and First Aid found himself dropping to land heavily on the ground of the transport. “Also, as if you’re in any place to moralize to me, Autobot. I saved you didn’t I? You owe me a favor.”

“Swindle, I told you, I’d be covering the cost of this one, he don’t owe you squat,” a familiar voice called.

“Oh look, he’s here, I’ll give you two room,” Swindle says with a wink, and before First Aid can even ask him what he’s on about, Vortex rounds the corner, coming into view with what First Aid assumes is a very dead mech slung over his shoulder.

“You owe me big for this,” Swindle mutters to him as he walks by. “Saved your little medic from getting scrapped. They were going to send him to Tarn.”

Vortex slumps the frame off his shoulder and onto Swindle’s, stating in a bored monotone, “Here, take whatever you want off him and write up the rest of my tab later.”

“Will do,” Swindle says gleefully, and with a final, overly cheery wave to First Aid, he’s walking off and out of sight, taking the dead mech with him

Vortex draws near to him, visor brightening as he set his sights on First Aid.

“Well, well, well. Swindle telling the whole truth, that’s a first,” Vortex said as he approached First Aid, who stumbled back of him a bit, servos raised warily in self defense.

“Look,” Vortex sighed as he looked at the practically quaking medic in front of him. With probably all the courage First Aid had left in him, he lunged and socked Vortex in the jaw with a loud clang and then threw himself in the opposite direction.

He was a medic, and after that, a pacifist. So to say his sloppy punch hadn’t had it’s intended effect would be the understatement of the millenia. He quickly felt strong arms wrap around his chassis as he was lifted bodily off the floor, struggling all the way. He threw back his helm in an attempt to hit Vortex, but the helicopter was wise to the tactic and it got First Aid nowhere.

“Calm down, calm down, I’m not gonna hurt you,” Vortex murmured in his audial as he shifted his weight in his grip. A servo was sliding up between his legs to grope at his interface panel. The contact caused First Aid to jolt and attempted to throw another hit.

“Put me down, and let me go, my gestalt is on their way to find me,” First Aid attempted stoically.

“No they aren’t,” Vortex laughed. He did listen to First Aid and set the medic down, letting him wobble on his own two pedes. “No one had a clue where you went. No one does yet either, because we haven’t reported it.” Vortex leaned against the side of the transport wall, visor gleaming ominously. “No one knows where you are, Aid. You could say you’re at my mercy.”

First Aid gritted his denta and glared at Vortex irritably before he remembered the other mecha in the transport, who had all gone eerily silent since the first murder. He noticed the one who had spoken about Tarn didn’t look any less terrified to see Vortex. Right, he often forgot about Vortex’s reputation.

“What are you going to do with them?” First Aid asked, gesturing around himself broadly.

Vortex tapped on the mask covering his face thoughtfully. “Hmm, well, guess that is up to you.”

“Is it now?” First Aid said through clenched denta. Vortex, he knew was playing games, he was just worried about where those games would leave the two of them.

“How about we make a deal?” Vortex said finally, tone overly cheery in a way that raised First Aid’s metaphorical hackles.

“What kind of deal?” First Aid gritted out, growing more and more irritated by the second. He always underestimated Vortex’s potential to make light of a dire situation, and the practiced ease with which he played with other’s lives.

“Why don’t we step outside to discuss,” Vortex said, standing aside to gesture outside the transport.

First Aid sighed heavily, “Fine.” And then stepped out of the transport, Vortex following at his back. As soon as Vortex had closed the doors of the transport and he joined First Aid a short distance away, First Aid asked, “What do you want?”

“I get nine minutes, one for every prisoner, to touch you, over the panels, anywhere, and any way I want. No drawing energon of course, or any other sort of harm, of course,” Vortex laid out the terms, voice quick and eager. First Aid wondered if he picked up those traits from being in a gestalt with Swindle.

A part of First Aid fluttered at the idea. His own gestalt would certainly not approve. Pit, the fact he was even considering this was probably bordering on treason. He could hear the imaginary write up Prowl would give him now. But Prowl and his gestalt weren’t here and he hadn’t been able to fill them in on his whole… situation with Vortex for a while.

Maybe indulging him in this would finally sate Vortex’s interest? And it would be saving the mecha inside the transport from further harm, which First Aid was sure Vortex would willingly inflict on them should he turn him down. They were a means to an end and Vortex would be quick to dispose of them if they didn’t serve him some sort of benefit.

The more First Aid mulled it over, the more the thought of doing something so taboo, yet seemingly justified, appealed to him. He was saving lives by agreeing to indulge Vortex, wasn’t he? And they weren’t really doing anything, just a bit of light touching. It wasn’t like Vortex could do much to him inside of ten minutes.

Assuming he kept his word that is. First Aid considered the other mech carefully for a moment. Vortex was a lot of things, brutal, cruel, sadistic, obsessive, and just plain mentally unsound. But a liar? Not that First Aid could ever recall.

“Alright,” was what he finally settled on, and the way Vortex’s visor brightens again in excitement as a servo latches on to his is almost cute. Almost. Maybe if Vortex didn’t have a bit of blood flecked on him from the mech he’d chased down.

“Wait, wait, wait,” First Aid refuses to walk forward so Vortex almost drags him in his excitement. “Let them go first,” he demands, pointing at the transport.

“No,” Vortex says flatly.

“But our deal-.”

“Our deal, on your completion, will involve me signaling the Autobots where to pick both you and your nine little,” Vortex flicks a servo at the transport. “Pets.”

First Aid looked displeased but he clearly had no other options. Or at least, no options that appealed to the nagging moral voice in the back of his processor.

“Fine.”

Vortex beckoned him with a crooked digit, and a short walk later, they’re out of view of the transport behind a cluster of tall rocks. First Aid feels a part of him squirm at the realization that he is, once again, alone with Vortex in an unbecomingly compromising situation. And this time it was purely by his own choice.

Vortex gripped his servos and First Aid felt a nervous jolt go through his spark. 

“I’ve always wondered about medic’s servos, there’s so many rumors about them,” Vortex’s mask splits to reveal two lips that curve into a surprisingly charming smile. First Aid looks at the enemy helicopter’s face for the first time, and to his horror, he realizes he’s handsome. Unfairly so. Features sharp in a way that match his violent nature, but a part of him also looks so personable and at ease that First Aid can’t help but find a part of himself wanting to be lulled into a false sense of security by the allure.

Then Vortex is raising his servo to his mouth and a tongue starts to lave over his digits. 

And yeah, he probably should’ve expected this. Medic servos were a common enough kink, featured heavily in self servicing videos. And while most of the mecha moaning like a two shanix piece of shareware while getting their digits sucked, were indeed not medics, the reality was that medical servos were very fine, very sensitive instruments.

So when First Aid found his servo encompassed in hot, wet heat, he let out an unfortunate choked version of a squeal, and tried to jerk himself back. This merely ended up with Vortex raising FIrst Aid up, jamming his knee between his thighs to grind on his panel as he bodily pressed the medic against the rock wall and continued to suck and lave on his digits, one by one.

His chrono told him that by five minutes in, he was already a quivery, shaking mess, incomprehensible sentences eeking out his mouth as he watched Vortex patiently lave over his palms and the gaps between his digits.

By seven minutes in he was subconsciously grinding down on the leg between his thighs, not really noticing as he lost himself in the building charge. Vortex indulge him, rocking with his motions as he worked away at First Aid’s digits. At eight point five minutes First Aid was starting to feel the tingling burn of an approaching overload, and just as that overload was there, on the cusp of tipping over-

First Aid found himself set gently down on his own two pedes, processor spinning as he shut his optics and tried to steady himself. Instead, he gave up and allowed himself to lean heavily against the rock behind him.

“Well, that’s the nine,” Vortex said with a sigh, mask clipping shut.

First Aid squirmed, looking distinctly uncomfortable. His valve felt swollen and wet and he could feel the tip of his spike pressing at his panel, aching to be allowed to pressurize. His servos were still sending lingering bolts of arousal, and as First Aid ran them over his own chassis, more sparks flickered through his frame, directly to his array, the sensors in his digits appearing to be oversensitive from the prolonged attention.

“Unless,” Vortex looked him over slyly, “you want to continue?”

First Aid bit his lip, not that Vortex could see behind his mask. He worried his lip as he thought about it. Was it really worth risking so much? He looked at Vortex and his gaze lingered on the rotors protruding from his back. First Aid’s digits twitched before he curled them into fists that sat balled up on his knees.

“You can touch them you know. You can also just, open your panel,” Vortex offered, voice a purr. It was a promise, and it entailed everything that First Aid desired but knew he shouldn’t. He looked over his shoulder, only to see nothing but the rock he had been leaning against. Finally, he shuttered his optics, and let his interface panel open with a soft click, allowing some lubricant to slide down his legs and his spike to extend.

Vortex was on him in a moment, with the same sort of predatory ferocity he was known for in battle. However, his touches were gentle, caressing, as he stroked at First Aid’s valve before pushing in two digits and curling them.

First Aid’s cooling fans came on in an instant as he reached out to touch the rotors that had been taunting him for so long. He ran his digits up the thin, tensile metal, earning him a shiver out of Vortex.

“Feels good when you do that,” Vortex murmured into his audial. “They’re not as sensitive as your servos, in fact, you can get a bit rough with them.”

First Aid didn’t though, he just stroked them idly and occasionally gripped them tight as Vortex worked over his valve. He worked in a third digit, and First Aid found himself growing impatient with the foreplay. If he had gone this far, he might as well go all the way, right? He ground down on Vortex’s digits impatiently as he pulled the helicopter closer, voice breathy and soft, always so soft as he said in a hushed tone, “Just put it inside.”

“Bold of you to make demands in your position,” Vortex growled, but there was still that ever present lightness to his tone. First Aid felt himself being hiked up against the rock again, and then he felt something wet and warm prodding at his valve lips.

“Y’know, I think you’d fit much better into our gestalt instead,” Vortex murmured. “Been thinking about it a while, could afford to lose an arm if you were the replacement.”

Before First Aid could piece together a hearty refusal at how patently insane that idea was, Vortex’s spike was nudging in.

“We’d be smarter with you in our lot that's for sure. Maybe a little too soft though,” Vortex was still going on, sliding into the slick wet heat of First Aid’s valve without losing a bit of his focus.

“I wanna know what’s going on in that overclocked little processor of yours,” Vortex murmured in his audial, punctuating his statement with a thrust that had First Aid crying out.

“Could make you feel good that way too, we should hardline sometime.”

They absolutely, positively should not. If there was a clearer way to tell his gestalt he was wholeheartedly enjoying a frag with the enemy, it would be through letting Vortex wreak havoc through the gestalt bond. But the idea of it, of having Vortex inside him, in his most intimate places, digging out all his darker repressed desires.

“One of these days Aid, I’m going to get you over on my side. Not to be a ‘Con or anything like that but just. You’re gonna be with me, and you’re gonna stay,” Vortex’s words held a dark, imposing promise. 

Maybe it was the cheesy romance novels, the risque amatuer writing about the Wreckers he sometimes indulged in when he lumped across it, but First Aid found the words holding appeal to him, driving his arousal still higher, and encouraging that dangerously unhinged part of himself that struggled to break free.

“You can, just,” First Aid was trying to suppress that part of him that desperately wanted to ask, wanted to beg.

“Hmm? What’s that?” Vortex prompted, as he ground his spike against First Aid’s ceiling node, leaving the medic writhing and gasping.

“Overload inside,” First Aid gasped, the words finally dislodging themselves from his vocalizer.

“Oh? Would you like that?” Vortex murmured, teasing lilt to his tone. “Want me to fill up your tight little valve?”

“Yes,” First Aid gasped, and as he does Vortex bucks into him.

“Frag, I knew this would be good, would be worth the wait,” Vortex groaned, as his thrusts grew harder and more uncontrolled. First Aid found himself skidding along the wall, kicking up a bit of loose dust with the force of the thrusts. He could feel his overload building, feel his array tingling with ancipitory charge.

“Be a good little medic and overload for me now,” Vortex’s voice comes dark and heavy in his audial and that’s it for First Aid’s self control. With a shameless cry he’s overloading, and Vortex fucks him through it. Right as the stimulation is bordering on unbearable and First Aid is letting out a strangled little “please!” Vortex overloads in him in a hot and sticky rush.

“Vortex!” Swindle’s voice is shouting, loud and irritable. “Are you still facing him? I told you, his Gestalt is coming by the end of the hour, you have less than two minutes, get him up.”

In a daze First Aid found himself being lifted up. His panel is being forced closed before his array is done cooling, and First Aid whined at the sensation. 

“Sorry, sorry, lost track of time,” Vortex mutters, and his tone is, to First Aid’s addled surprise, actually somewhat contrite. Vortex is wiping him down hurriedly with a rag, rubbing roughly at transfers all over his panels and thighs.

“They’re here,” Swindle called again, tone warning.

“Aright, alright, he’s up,” Vortex called back, voice biting with irritation. That annoyance settled as he turned back, and those lips quirk into a small smile before Vortex is shutting his mask again. “Nice doing business with you Aid, enjoyed our little deal. Let me know if you ever need anything again and enjoy your souvenir.”

First Aid isn’t really sure what he’s talking about. But as his panel starts to leak during an intense, concern fueled interrogation by his gestalt on the way home, requiring First Aid to squirm uncomfortably to cover the wet spot, he realizes exactly what Vortex meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Joker voice* I think you and I are destined to do this forever.
> 
> My backlog is a mess, I've got 27k of unfinished fic written. I jokingly told my friend I would be writing kinktober until july next year
> 
> That might not be so much a joke LMAO.
> 
> Anyways, you'll probably get some Cygate public up next. But probably something else not kinktobery before that.


	12. Day 21- Size Difference Skyfire/Starscream

In an odd way, Skyfire had been the start of it all. Starscream had started thinking it was a size thing. That maybe he just liked mecha that were bigger than him. But then Astrotrain had tried his luck, shot his shot. And Starscream decided it was more than just size, it was power. 

Looking into Astrotrain’s optics, he saw fear, he saw hesitancy, he saw the capacity for the mech to be swallowed whole, another victim of his own seemingly unending ambition. So he’d moved on to Megatron. That relationship, he’d learned, was all about power, and yet none of it was fulfilling. 

So here he was, back, slowly integrating himself into post war society. There were no more factions, there were no more sides, and supposedly there were no more grudges (lie, obviously).

He didn’t expect much. His trine had dissolved, broken shamble that it was, it’s long held tenuous grip finally shattering. If there was one thing he regretted most, it was letting Megatron take that from him, or rather, letting himself give that away in humble sacrifice to a false idol.

A knock came at his door, booming in the empty quiet that had become his isolated apartment, and deeper than that, his life. He’d not been out. Flight regulations were annoyingly strict in Iacon, and a part of him hated that he was back there. That the end to all his ambitions had happened in the very same city where they began. Their remnants haunted him, the ghosts of what had been lost lingered.

So it was easy to say he was in a dour mood when he rose, stalked moodily across to the door, and flung it open. His optics scaled pristine white plating all the way up to a familiarly dark face with blue optics looking down at him.

“Starscream,” Skyfire said, and there was a breathless hopeful quality to his exhalation that made Starscream’s spark ache with nostalgia. He’d not heard Skyfire call his name like that for a very, very long time. Free and weightless, like setting flight into a warm updraft.

Starscream started to close it again, without another word. This was taking the lid off something he’d briefly uncovered once before and it was obviously better left sealed. All he had to give was toxicity and bile and Skyfire was far too passive to do something about it, and far too pure to be able to stand it for long.

He didn’t want to feel the rejection a second time.

A large hand wedged itself in the door and try as he might, Starscream couldn’t close it. He leaned on it with his full force, thinking Skyfire would just Get The Hint, and retract his fingers. Instead he heard the concerning wheeze of metal starting to bend in ways it probably shouldn’t, and a soft grunt of pain on the other side.

“I just want to talk a bit, you don’t have to let me in. Just keep the door open a crack, okay?” Skyfire pleaded lightly. There was concern in his voice and not a note of falsity could be found in it.

Starscream stopped trying to push the door closed and leaned back, venting lightly in exertion. He didn’t respond.

“I just,” Skyfire hesitated. Which was such a Skyfire thing to do, barge in using his size to get a platform to make demands he didn’t actually have. 

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Starscream’s usually very quick processor stalled at that simple statement. He was honestly left bereft of words. He didn’t think he could recall a time when someone said those two words to him, genuinely, sincerely to him in the last four million years.

Oh of course there were plenty of “I’m sorry, but”, or “I’m sorry you were sparked”. But never just “I’m sorry” with the implication that those minimal words covered a range of wrong doings, none of which he’d earned.

“Starscream?” Skyfire asked tentatively. “You don’t have to accept it of course, I just felt like, after everything between us- and learning a bit more about the Decepticons,” Skyfire was rambling. He was a nervous rambler and the ramblings faded into white noise as Starscream yanked open the door to stand face to face with Skyfire.

There was a lot still unsaid, and a lot to be worked out. But all of that was pushed to the “later” pile as Skyfire found the barrier between himself and Starscream gone. Skyfire visibly perked up as he set sight on Starscream. He was swept up in an embrace by the shuttle, barely able to touch his pedes to the floor.

“I missed you, Star,” Skyfire breathed, and it was so achingly sincere. He both loved and hated that about Skyfire. It was a sincerity that cut right through to his core. Cut through the layers of lies, deception, and evasion to intimacy that Starscream had amassed through his time at the decepticons.

His sincerity burned, in a way. It made Starscream feel small and vulnerable, and at the very core, hurt. Not from wounds that Skyfire himself had inflicted, but rather wounds that he had long ago put away in an attempt to trudge on and through, until one day maybe they would magically just go away.

They were kissing now, with his door wide open for his already obnoxiously nosy neighbors to see. Skyfire seemed to notice that, and a minute later the door was being kicked shut with a concerning amount of force that made his door frame, no, the whole wall, shudder a bit.

“Careful,” Starscream murmured against his lips.

“Ah, should we, maybe not do this?” Skyfire asked and Starscream opened his optics to stare up into concerned blue ones.

“We have so much we should probably talk about instead,” Skyfire began. And Starscream just pulled him back down into a kiss before breaking it off and uttering “later.”

And that seemed good enough for Skyfire.

No, he decided, it wasn’t fully about power and it fully wasn’t about size, and it wasn’t control. Megatron had had that too, in fleeting moments. But he’d never held Starscream in any way that truly mattered. He could dent his wings, but not the core of Starscream himself, immeasurable, intangible, and unbreakable. 

But here Skyfire was, gentle with so much on his side to do so much harm. His clumsy strength, his intellect, their shared past. Trusting him, in what little measure Starscream was even capable of after all these years of being sealed shut, it was like freefall. It felt akin to his engine stalling out mid flight and the dizzying tip as he felt his frame lose momentum and start to tilt itself back down.

That’s the way he felt as Skyfire held out one large upturned white servo and looked at him, optics asking a gentle question. Starscream answered it as he slipped his servo into his and the two of them receded deeper into his apartment.

They ended up on his berth, and Skyfire didn’t have to ask, Starscream just popped his panel to reveal a wet valve. Skyfire released his spike. Before Skyfire could really stop him, Starscream was sliding onto it, letting the thick head pry him apart.

“Are you alright?” Skyfire’s brow furrowed as he asked the question. Servos hovered over him, ready to pull him off if the answer was no.

“I’m fine, just touch me,” Starscream said resolutely.

Large servos settled on his hips as Skyfire rolled his own up into Starscream. Starscream rocked with him. He felt warm, he felt full, he felt content, held close to Skyfire, his servos splayed across the mech’s cockpit. His valve gradually opened up and he slide further down, inviting more and more of Skyfire’s warmth into him.

He was small, pressed against Skyfire, his valve straining to work in an oversized spike that made the inner cabling of his thighs burn with exertion. But the burn was good, and feeling small after a time of feeling so powerful, yet so weak, it was refreshing in a way.

He leaned in close to kiss Skyfire and Skyfire leaned his head down to kiss him back. A large servo stroked his wing. He had to admit Skyfire’s size did do some things for him. The way he felt filled and achy, the challenge of a stretch.

He overloaded early, embarrassingly early. He felt his face start to heat up as he looked down, almost bewildered at the line of transfluid laying across Skyfire’s abdomen. As his face started to pinch up Skyfire seemed to notice. He just pulled Starscream in close for a kiss.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked gently, moving up to stroke at Starscream’s wings and fiddle with his seams.

“You haven’t finished,” Starscream stated begrudgingly, optics lowered.

“I don’t mind,” Skyfire hummed. So when Starscream gingerly tested that statement, sliding off his spike to lay on the berth next to him, he found an odd sort of relief. He was starting to remember, remember all the things he’d liked about Skyfire, all the things he’d shoved, deep deep down as a way of trying to surmount loss. Or maybe as a way to just stay afloat in it.

There was a freedom in being cut loose of expectations, of being set back at insignificant. His ego was bruised yes, he’d learned to make amends with the time sunk and lost. A part of him would probably always agitate to start unrest again just because sometimes he felt most himself in the chaos and unsurety of everyone else. Or he thought he had.

But here, against Skyfire, the two of them intertwined, he felt a gentle sort of hope that maybe that wasn’t all there was for him. Maybe there could be something more than endlessly upending the table on which everyone else played their game. 

Maybe there was something outside of that.

Skyfire was soft, he was gentle, but he wasn’t weak, and Starscream guessed maybe that was it. That was the nefarious secret that lurked behind those deceptively naive optics, that unassuming, placid face. Skyfire was soft and he’d worked his way deep into Starscream, through his joints and around his cables, gummed him up so he couldn’t work unless it was at Skyfire’s own concession.

He’d rendered him a gooey useless mech, all without Starscream’s initial notice, the fiend.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Starscream said absentmindedly one night, months later, while they sat out on his balcony looking at the shimmering lights of Iacon in rebirth. There was an unexpected newness about the war torn city, an air of freshness, of potential, of possibility.

“I think we should go exploring again,” Skyfire smiled back at him, reaching out one giant servo for him to grasp in his own. “You and me, against the whole universe. See what we can find.”

“And if you go down in the ice again?” Starscream murmured, optics turning to look out away from Skyfire. A servo slid across his back, under his wing, and pulled him close.

“I’ll take you down with me,” Skyfire said, and the way he said it, it was a promise, given in gentle tones. A promise that, no matter what, he wouldn’t be left behind this time. 

He supposed this was alright, a tender sort of terminality. Facing the edge of the unknown with nothing but his hand in Skyfire’s, enormous and threatening in his size and potential.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was a lot of flowery bullshit, i know lmao. I was in the mood to write a bit of some mopey poetic stuff i guess.
> 
> anyways, im probably gonna knock out my last request, spinkrok, this weekend. After that expect prowl/constructicons, swindle/lockdown, swerve/misfire, and probably some megastar at some point
> 
> atm i feel content chugging along finishing kinktober stuff, but i am working on longer fics.


	13. Day 22- Overstimulation Brainstorm/Perceptor

“A bet’s a bet,” Brainstorm said smugly, leaning on one elbow against Perceptor’s lab table as the microscope grimaced. He’d expected Brainstorm to come for his reward, but not this soon. 

“Right now? I’m in the middle of-,” Perceptor started.

“I Perceptor agree to a bet where if Brainstorm, ship genius,” Brainstorm paused, looking at Perceptor smugly, “that’s me,” he said pointing to his chest proudly, “Prove my theorem about quantum superposition, Brainstorm gets one request, I must adhere to regardless of the time or place. Restrictions apply.”

Perceptor sighed, rising to his pedes “Fine. Let’s do this now then, and get it out of the way.”

“Relax Percy, I chose something that would be fun for the both of us,” Brainstorm said as he slung an arm around his favorite lab partner.

“It’s a sex enhancement isn’t it,” Perceptor depanned.

“Ah boo! Percy come on, don’t spoil the fun,” Brainstorm chastised as he did his best to look put out with his face mask still in place.

“I’m not spoiling anything, you're just incredibly predictable,” Perceptor griped, trying to shrug off Brainstorm's grasp on him.

“Fine, fine,” Brainstorm conceded, pulling out a jar of a pink opaque looking substance. “I’m predictable, now open your panel.”

When Percy hesitated, Brainstorm reassured him, “I’ve tested it, several times. Cyclonus and Tailgate were willing to be my lab rats, last week when I self serviced, Rodimus- you get the idea.”

“Alright, proceed,” Perceptor said, his voice still containing a slight bit of hesitation. Gingerly, Brainstorm pushed two digits slicked with the stuff between his folds and Perceptor’s array lit up with a not unpleasant tingling sensation.

“See, it’s fine! How’s that feel?” Brainstorm asked, peering at Perceptor curiously as the microscope shifted on his lab stool. It occurred to him that he probably should’ve requested they take this elsewhere before letting Brainstorm smear his array with a homemade aphrodisiac, but well. The time for that was over and done with, he realized as he looked down at his now leaking array. And they’d fragged in the lab more times than he really even wanted to admit.

The tingling sensation turned to a burning, Perceptor’s valve feeling swollen and itching for contact of any kind. Brainstorm scooped up another dollop of the stuff and before Perceptor could think to protest he’d slathered his node and spike housing with it, massaging both of them with his digits, and sending sparks of pleasure all through Perceptor’s array.

“Brainstorm,” Perceptor gasped as those areas began to burn with need as well.

“Feels good right? Don’t worry I’m about to make it a lot better,” Brainstorm rubbed Perceptor’s node to punctuate his point and that had him biting his lip so hard he almost drew energon as he tried in vain to stifle a whimper.

“Aw Percy no need to hold back, the lab's bomb proof let alone sound proof,” Brainstorm’s thumb didn't let off his node and he began to pinch and roll it as he watched Perceptor’s valve clench and leak lubricant.

“You’re always so uptight, it’s nice seeing you let loose a little,” Brainstorm murmurs, taking off his face plate to move in close for a kiss. Perceptor lets him, and gasps into the kiss as Brainstorm, seemingly bored with his node, pushes two digits into Perceptor’s valve.

“Yeah, you look like you just need someone to overload you until you can’t overthink anything,” Brainstorm husked in his audial before curling his digits to press at a soft spot in his mesh. His thumb is pressing into Perceptor’s node and it’s like that that he overloads on Brainstorm’s digits.

“Primus,” Perceptor breathes as Brainstorm continues to scissor him through his overload, working callipers open as Perceptor tries to calm his reeling processor.

“Close, but nah, it’s just me,” Brainstorm chuckles before swallowing Perceptor’s response with another kiss as his digits ease out of him. Perceptor feels something hard and warm rut up against his valve and Perceptor finds himself moving in kind.

He hooks an arm around Brainstorm’s neck and drags him in close, growling, “Just put it in.”

This time it’s his lips on Brainstorm’s that silences a response and he wraps his legs around Brainstorm’s waist, pulling him in closer to punctuate his point. 

“Hold on, let's just,” Brainstorm is surprisingly strong enough to lift him off his stool and position him on his own lab table, hastily sweeping its contents over to the side in a disheveled mess. Perceptor glares at him a moment but saves his disdainful comment when Brainstorm, mercifully, accedes to his demand and pushes in.

Every part of his valve seems to be sparking in pleasure, and Brainstorm himself is groaning, low and guttural in Perceptor’s audial. Perceptor feels tension he hadn’t even been aware of leaving his body as Brainstorm rocks into him.

“Frag you look so good on my spike,” Brainstorm murmurs as his hips bump up against Perceptor’s own, his servo coming down to wrap around his spike and stroke him in time with his thrusts. His servo moves away a moment and comes back, slick with pink and then his spike is being coated in the tingling substance.

“Brainstorm,” He cries, caught somewhere between desperation, excitement, and trepidation.

“Shhh, I got you,” he soothes.

“No more,” Perceptor wheezes as Brainstorm strokes his spike furiously. “You’re going to make me burn out a circuit at this rate.” The statement, while mildly dramatic, isn’t actually far from a possibility. 

“I’ve got a compound,” Brainstorm said between thrusts, as his servo expertly twisted Perceptor’s spike in a way that seemed to set every sensor on fire and had Brainstorm’s servo coated in transfluid as he overloaded a second time.

“Percy are you listening?” he asked his dazed lab companion. Perceptor was not, too caught up in the feedback of having two overloads so close together. His array was singing with dispersed charge and the thoughts in his processor were becoming sluggish and abstracted, his frame becoming more and more focused on just feeling the sensations instead of pondering the events around him.

“What?” He asked fuzzily. His arms were shaking under him, struggling to hold his own weight. Brainstorm seemed to notice this and Perceptor found himself easily getting turned over- and seriously, how had he not noticed Brainstorm was this strong?

Brainstorm chuckled, “You’re really getting into this huh? I said I have a compound that can nullify the effects of this stuff, in case you get tired or whatever. Just let me know when you want to tap out.”

Perceptor nodded once before laying his helm against his lab table. 

“Good to go again?” Brainstorm prompted, and was met only with shakey wave of assent from Perceptor. 

The second time Perceptor was entered, it was much rougher.

“Heh, can’t say this stuff is as effective for me as it is for you,” Brainstorm grunted as he began to pick up speed and frag Perceptor in earnest. “Built up a bit of a tolerance for it after all the testing y’know? But still.” Perceptor gasped as his hips were gripped and pulled roughly against Brainstorm’s own with a sharp clang.

“It certainly gets me going to see you enjoying yourself so much though,” Brainstorm was bending low over him now, hips thrusting against him, the drag of Brainstorm’s spike setting his valve alight with pleasure as Perceptor feels himself ready to crest a third overload. A digit trails down to his slick and swollen valve, rubs his node in tight little circles until the sensations burst and another overload wracks through him, leaving him slumping against his lab table as Brainstorm is probably the only thing keeping him from slipping off the table and to the floor.

“Guess we should’ve moved this to a berth. We still could, if you want?” Brainstorm, ever late to the planning ahead party, suggests.

“I don’t think I can anymore,” Perceptor groaned, valve squeezing back on his spike. 

“You wanna stop?” Brainstorm asked, as he paused his touching.

Perceptor took a moment to recover himself and process the question, leaning over the desk and panting. In the time he spent thinking, his valve had started to itch again.

“I’m fine, just,” He started and whatever request he had in mind was quickly swept out of his processor when Brainstorm pushed up to grind at his ceiling node while he worked his spike. Normally, his spike would’ve recessed within an overload or two, retreating back into its housing, but it seemed whatever Brainstorm had slathered on his array was keeping it out and receptive to touch. 

It hurt, it felt good but it hurt, as the charge started to build once more in his overworked array. Perceptor couldn’t bring himself to tell Brainstorm to stop, but neither could he admit how much he liked it, more than he already was through his noises, the way he was drooling on his lab table, and the needy clench of his valve which gripped at Brainstorm’s spike with every maddening thrust. He found a part of his processor longing for the hot rush of an overload into his aching valve, imagined the sight of Brainstorm’s transfluid dripping down his thighs as the mech continued to finger him into another overload-

He felt his optics growing wet as his charged peaked and his array was on fire, another overload rattingling through his systems as he felt himself going strutless against the table. His spike sputtered a few drops in a pathetic attempt at an overload as Brainstorm milked it for all he could. 

Primus, he didn’t think that Brainstorm had even overloaded once yet. The teal mech just seemed content to work at his valve, thrusting endlessly as his servo massaged his spike mercilessly.

“We should probably move this to a berth,” Perceptor forced himself to say after he felt himself come back into his own head with the dissipation of the last dregs of his overload. He found himself wishing he’d pushed the point far earlier.

Brainstorm just grinned at him as he eased out of Perceptor then helped him rise to his pedes, pushing his panel closed. Perceptor could still feel his array tingling like mad under his panels and he had a feeling the sensation would only intensify the longer he tried to ignore it.

“We should get moving unless you wanna frag in a hall,” Brainstorm prodded him gently, slinging his arm around Perceptor’s waist as he looped Perceptor’s own around his shoulders. Perceptor took a first step forward and felt the slide of lubricant under his panels.

He sighed.

It was going to be a long night.


	14. Day 25- Bondage Thunderclash/Rodimus

Rodimus found himself unable to move. His arms were bound behind him, and even if he could move, doing so would make things rub against his spoiler, and this whole situation was already way, way more heated than he wanted it to be.

Things between them were supposed to be simple. Him and Thunderclash were a thing. He didn’t really know what kind of thing, and he was desperately, desperately trying to keep it that way. He didn’t need Drift to point out (though his amica did, many, many times despite his protests) that Thunderclash clearly wanted something more between them.

He was already aware. He could already see it in the way Thunderclash looked at him sometimes after their trysts. It had caught him off guard at first, but that feeling had slowly melded into the realization that he was being dragged to the precipice of something unknown and terrifying. 

So then, how did he end up here, tied up, planted in Thunderclash’s lap, alone on his berth with him?

Short of it is that he’s basically the Cybertronian equivalent of a vampire now. Long of it that a very nice looking femme stole alway his ability to process energon but gave him the ability to nuzzle out other mech’s fuel lines with his needle like denta.

“Sorry about… all this,” Thunderclash said politely as if he were talking about a minor inconvenience and not Rodimus bound so that he could safely attempt to feed from Thunderclash. 

They had tried a number of things before it got to this point, of course. First had been the synthetic stuff. Brainstorm had been behind that one, lab processed energon. Rodimus tried not to gag at the memory of the taste. It had made him violently ill almost immediately and his tank hadn’t settled until he’d finished removing the stuff from his frame. Primarily by retching on the floor until he was dry heaving. Even after all that, he’d been wracked with tremors and shivers for hours after.

“Sorry about that Rodimus,” Brainstorm had said sheepishly. “Looks like there’s some ingredient x we’re missing.”

Next had been giving him processed energon, extracted from a live mech and put into a cube. While he’d not been quite as ill as the first time, he’d still ended up purging it back up. Delightfully, he’d been spared the hours of quivering at least.

So that’s how they’d come to this point. He needed processed energon straight from the source. Rodimus didn’t remember much about his encounter with the femme, but he had remembered at least at the start when she first bit him, that it had done things to his array.

So when the likes of Megatron and Magnus had stoically volunteered to be his dinner, Rodimus had vehemently refused.

“Well, who then? We can’t exactly let you starve,” Ratchet huffed impatiently. “Your fuel levels are edging towards critical, now is the time-.”

“Thunderclash,” Rodimus sighed, after a moment’s hesitation. He didn’t really want to be doing this with Thunderclash, but it was the lesser of many, many apparent evils to choose from. If he had to overload anyone via a bite to their fuel cables, he figured it may as well be the mech he was already sort of seeing.

Drift shot him a knowing look that he desperately tried to ignore.

“Thunderclash?” Ratchet questioned incredulously.

“He’s a larger frame type than me, I don’t think I could drain him if I wanted to. He’s also strong and even without appropriate bindings, I don’t think getting me to stop would be beyond him,” Rodimus stated mechanically.

“Hold on, why are you talking about this like it’s going to be you two alone in isolation, that is way too dangerous,” Ratchet argued, looking at Rodimus like he was half mad. Which, at his current fuel levels, he very well might be. But he wouldn’t be Rodimus if he let go of his concept of dignity that easy.

Rodimus let out a harsh exvent, “Because feeding directly from someone isn’t exactly... appropriate for all audiences.”

He let the gathering of mecha in the room slowly piece together the implied meaning behind his words. Drift’s grin only grew wider and more obnoxious. Primus Rodimus wanted to bite him, and not particularly for fueling purposes.

“And you think Thunderclash-,” Magnus started hesitantly.

“We ‘face. It wouldn’t be much far off from that,” Rodimus looked up at the ceiling because he didn’t care to see Magnus’ reaction to this revelation about his sex life.

“Any more overly invasive questions?” Rodimus asked sulkily, still averting his gaze. After a moment of silence from the room he said, “Good.”

So there they were. On top of the bindings, Rodimus also had on a pair of stasis cuffs that allowed him no movement except for his helm.

“Thank you for allowing me to assist you with your vulnerability Rodimus. I appreciate that you put your faith-,” Thunderclash was starting one of his overfond monologues.

Rodimus hastily cut him off, irritatedly snapping “‘Clash don’t read into it, you’re the only one I’m ‘facing right now, that’s why I picked you.”

Thunderclash merely nodded, but his spirits didn’t even look slightly abashed. The gall.

“Can we just get this over with?” Rodimus sighed wearily.

“Ah, yes apologies,” Thunderclash nodded, and then sat still for a moment. The two of them just stared at each other awkwardly in the silence. Primus he wished they just had to ‘face. That would be far less awkward than whatever this was.

“Can’t exactly do it myself Thunders, gonna need some help,” Rodimus couldn't help the biting sarcasm that crept into every word he aimed at the obnoxiously colored mech in front of him. Seriously his detailer had to have been colorblind to agree to a color scheme like that.

Rodimus felt himself being lifted up and a part of him thrilled at that sensation. Usually he was doing his best to not be caught in the grasp of larger mechs that wanted to throttle him, though he supposed he had the opposite issue with Thunderclash. He didn’t really like letting the bigger mech be in charge during their facing sessions, usually Rodimus was the one to dictate how things went….

“Where do you want to, uh,” Thunderclash was probably searching for the most non offensive term for “leech my energon out of my frame like the dirty parasite you are”. Rodimus stared unimpressed while he fumbled, and then quickly lost patience.

“The neck if you don’t mind it not being somewhere discreet. It’s just the easiest place for me to find a fuel line. I’m not really a medic,” Rodimus sighed. He’d tried biting himself in desperation a few times before they’d figured out what was wrong with him. He’d learned quickly how painful it was to bite a decidedly non pliant part of his frame. His fangs were strong and made to puncture, but the parts of his frame that were made specifically not to be punctured won the battle of wills there.

“Perfectly alright,” Thunderclash said far too eagerly for his taste. If it was Rodimus’ luck, he’d have a fetish for this kind of thing. He would not be biting Thunderclash sexually any time in the near future.

Certainly not. Not even if he begged, as funny as that would be.

Speaking of biting, Rodimus nearly nicked himself in the lip as his fangs descended upon reaching proximity to Thunderclash’s fuel line. He could taste his energon without even touching him, its presence was cloying, filling his senses and he didn’t even realize he’d moved until he heard Thunderclash’s grunt.

The taste of energon bloomed in his mouth as he swallowed it down greedily. The fluid was warm and it tasted- it tasted-

Rodimus caught flashes, images of things, snatches of feelings, and for a moment he saw himself through Thunderclash’s optics and felt an overwhelming cocktail of affection and admiration and another word he didn’t dare put a name to.

Rodimus indulged in the connection for a moment before he recovered himself and jolted away, retracting his fangs as he did so. Thunderclash winced and his servo immediately moved up to touch at his neck. He stared at the energon that was on his palm when his servo came away.

“You alright Thunders?” Rodimus murmured, voice coming out softer than he intended, with a delicate rasp on the tail end of his sentence.

“I’m fine Rodimus,” the larger mech assured as he looked Rodimus over intently, magenta optics searching.

Rodimus was exventing harshly, the act of doing so helped him cool down and steady his systems. His spike was achingly hot against his panels, he could feel his valve lubricating, and his spoiler was tingling with a need to be touched.

“Fuck,” Rodimus cursed as he felt himself being leaned back. He forgot for a moment that Thunderclash was still in the room with him, but was immediately brought back to that reality as the other mech spoke.

“Are you alright?” Thunderclash’s vocalizer was stupidly smooth and his voice sounded stupidly nice, and Primus, Rodimus hated him so much right then. 

“Fine,” he gritted out, drawing out the F sound a little longer than he intended.

“Your systems seem to indicate you’re in distress, you’re not rejecting the fuel again?”

“I’m charged, Thunders,” Rodimus snapped. “This whole thing does shit to your systems. Knowing how it felt to be on the donor end, you probably aren’t unaffected either, are you hotshot?”

Thunderclash looked a little embarrassed and his silence was answer enough.

“Okay, frag, I cannot go back out there and answer fifty questions from Ratchet and Brainstorm right now. I need an overload.”

Thunderclash seemed startled by the admission, optics opening wide in surprise, “Do- do you want me to take the stasis cuffs off?”

Rodimus rolled his optics, “No. Knowing Brainstorm, he probably has some sort of relay set up to tell if they get disabled.” Also Rodimus thought it was kinda hot. Not that he really needed Thunderclash knowing that. Or anyone really.

Thunderclash was still hesitating. Rodimus couldn’t exactly blame him. Handcuffs were kinky, whereas stasis cuffs didn’t make for a particularly willing or reactive partner, and he couldn’t imagine a clean cut mech like Thunderclash being into that kind of thing.

Rodimus sent a command to his array. No dice.

“Thunders please,” he whined. “If I get cleared by Ratchet, Magnus is going to immediately make me do my afternoon shift for sure, this will drive me insane.”

Thunderclash’s will to resist seemed to buckle under the force of Rodimus’ pleading gaze. Man, Drift was right, the guy really did have it bad for him. Rodimus couldn’t help the giddy little grin that slid across his face as Thunderclash’s servo brushed his panel, and manually overrode it.

Rodimus groaned as the wet rush of lubricant leaked out onto the berth.

“If you don’t like anything, say stop and I will,” Thunderclash asserted firmly, optics lingering on his valve a moment before he drug them up to look Rodimus in the face.

“You got it Thunders,” Rodimus said easily. If he could he’d be spreading his legs wider, anything to encourage Thunderclash to hurry up. Thunderclash’s energon was singing in his fuel lines and as the mech grew closer that singing turned into a buzzing hum that made his whole frame feel like it was tingling.

A servo brushed his thigh, sliding up, and the trail it left behind was one of pleasure. 

As Thunderclash tilted his helm down towards his thighs a part of Rodimus wanted to snap at him to get to it and hurry up. But as his lips met his frame, Rodimus choked on those words, managing only a strangled sound.

“Are you alright?” Thunderclash murmured against him, and not even the stasis cuffs could stop the involuntary shiver that wracked through his frame.

“I’m- I- yeah,” Rodimus managed out weakly. “‘S intense.”

“Good though?”

Rodimus' processor was going fuzzy and he leaned his helm back on the berth, resigning himself to just feeling whatever Thunderclash was doing to him.

“Yeah, feels real nice, Thunders,” Rodimus mumbled, earning him a chuckle from Thunderclash. Wet kisses are planted up his thigh, until one just barely grazes his valve, and then Thunderclash starts up the other thigh. As he does so, his servos gently stroke the outside of Rodimus’ legs.

Rodimus can’t find it in him to snap at Thunderclash, or protest the meticulous attention being paid to things not his valve. Instead he just lets out groans and breathy gasp and a variety of other noises to show his pleasure at Thunderclash’s touch.

At long last there is a searing heat on his valve, and a glossa laving on his node. His hips are being gripped harshly, as if Rodimus could squirm away, and Thunderclash works at him, driving his charge higher and higher. Rodimus is being loud, he can hear his own voice bouncing back to him throughout the room, but he can’t muster the self control to quiet himself.

When a servo comes up to grope at his spoiler, he loses it. His overload feels like it lasts forever as Thunderclash doesn’t let up. He gives Rodimus’ node a hard suck before moving to lap at the lubricant running from his valve.

When the rush of lubricant slows to a drip, Thunderclash moves up from between Rodimus’ legs. He unsubspaces a cloth and Rodimus finds himself being gently wiped down.

“Thanks,” Rodimus breathes, and if he was more in his own head, maybe he’d be embarrassed by the amount of sincerity in his tone, but for the moment, he just offlines his optics for a moment.

“Rodimus, I’m going to comm everyone and take off the cuffs now,” Thunderclash said.

“Yeah sure, sounds good,” Rodimus said distractedly. His processor was still fuzzy and distant and the more he tried to focus, the more focus eluded him.

All his processor kept going back to was the thought that he needed to fuel regularly and Brainstorm, despite all his protests otherwise, and assurances of “tomorrow” and “just a bit longer”, probably had no clue when he’d manage to fix this. Which meant he’d probably be seeing a lot more of Thunderclash.

Primus. This situation was going to be a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skippin nano to continue on with kinktober... maybe I'll do nano in december. dano... lol
> 
> Anyways up next is probably one of like 4 requests I have on the pile for a friend. You can expect to see spinkrok, brainceptor, vortaid, and cygate courtesy of him. Somewhere after that I wanna do prowl/tarantulas and some misfire/swerve. So thats whats on the docket pals. May take a breather from porn for a bit because burnout....
> 
> If you liked this ch btw, good news, it's actually based on a wip I have in my deep dark dungeon of wips that will maybe see the light of day in like 3 years. Anyways, yeah I'm gonna do a longer thunderrod vampire piece, so lookout for that, hopefully sometime before next october(ˢᵒʳʳʸ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵃᵗ)!


	15. Day 27- Public Cyclonus/Tailgate

It was a slow evening at Swerve’s when things had gotten a bit out of hand. Admittedly, Cyclonus had been neglecting his private time with Tailgate, but on the other hand things had been quite busy, what with his conjunx to be recently being recovered from the dead and the universe near going extinct.

So it maybe shouldn’t have surprised him that Tailgate was frisky, bordering on desperate after the excitement had settled and the ship had returned to an unsettlingly calm and comfortable lull inside a new universe. He was about halfway through his energex, too distracted by the noisy entrance of Whirl into the bar to notice Tailgate slipping under the table. 

They were in their own booth in a remote, quieter part of the bar, less likely to be harassed or even seen by an overcharged patron as they were. Cyclonus was nursing his first drink while Tailgate seemed to have speedily downed three in the blink of an optic.

He jolted violently, a knee coming up to slam against the table, when he felt two small servos prising his thighs apart.

“Tailgate,” he hissed at the giggling mini palming at his codpiece. 

“Cyclonus,” Tailgate mock admonished sternly back, managing to keep the act up for all of a few seconds before dissolving into giggles again. It was endearing and tugged at his spark, but not nearly as much as the impropriety of the situation tugged at his sense of shame.

“We’re in public, what are you-” Cyclonus was cut off by a nimble digit slipping into a hip seam to play with some cabling, and instead of slamming his knee into the table again he just raked his claws across the table, leaving deep furrows behind as he did so. It made an ugly screech as he did. It wasn’t like they weren’t easily replaced. One broke at least once a week in some kind of bar brawl, or because Whirl was bored, or Rodimus wanted target practice.

“You’ve been busy all week, ignoring me,” Tailgate chastised lightly, voice growing petulant as he continued playing with the cables, his other servo coming up to palm at Cyclonus’ interface panel. The metal was warm and only growing hotter as Tailgate worked. Tailgate hummed absentmindedly underneath the table, drawing circles and patterns artfully against the metal

“Besides, if you didn’t want to, even just a little bit, you’d have stopped me by now,” Tailgate said in a surprisingly calculating moment, before his giggles returned and a digit was jabbed harshly into the cabling, digging around for the release.

Release was an apt word for it, because as soon as the panel came loose and Cyclonus’ spike extended, he was greeted with a wave of relief. The desperate edge of his arousal was tempered somewhat, but Tailgate was working quickly to deny him much respite.

A small servo gripped his spike with surprising firmness, and as one stroked his spike, Cyclonus became distinctly aware of another click followed by soft wet noises he probably wouldn’t have been able to make out had his senses not been on high alert, every part of him keyed up with arousal. There was something almost predatory in the way his body responded to Tailgate, something that made him feel at the very hinges of his self control.

Cyclonus tried to calm himself, digging his claws deeper into the table to focus himself when the sound of an intake clearing made a bolt of dread radiate through him like nothing had since the dead dimension.

“Hey Cyclonus, rare to see you alone nowadays. Where’s Tailgate? Thought he came in with you,” Swerve asked him in a jovial tone that never failed to grate on his nerves. He’d been working on bettering his relationship with Swerve ever since they went on their hijinks to rescue him from his own holoform planet. It wasn’t easy and their personalities didn’t exactly mesh, but Tailgate’s fondness for him helped ease some of the innate ire Cyclonus felt for him.

“Hab suite,” Cyclonus grunted, hoping more than anything that the bar bot would get the hint he didn’t want conversation at that very moment.

Swerve, as always, missed the hint like he missed his targets.

“Well hope he’s feeling alright, spark and mind wise, y’know? I worry about the little fella, we all do.” Cyclonus is sure he would find the sentiment very flattering if said “little fella” wasn’t currently testing the outer limits of his restraint. Tailgate had switched servos throughout the brief conversation, his other servo coming up sticky, warm, and slick, to rub at the head of his spike. 

Tingles of pleasure shot up Cyclonus’ backstrus as his focus on the world grew hazy, the only places which his attention was pinpointed were the points where Tailgate was actively touching him. Tailgate’s helm was leaned against Cyclonus’ inner thigh and he could just feel the vibrations of him humming softly as he worked.

Swerve had asked him a question, somewhere in an undefined span of time, and Cyclonus came back to the realization that he’d just asked it a second time.

“What?” he asked, putting slightly more aggravation into the “T” sound than he intended to. He snapped out the word in frustration at having his attention divided between focusing on the pleasure and focusing on maintaining some form of his dignity in front of swerve.

“Your glass, was asking if you wanted another,” Swerve said, jabbing a digit at Cyclonus’ empty drink. He couldn’t even remember what he was drinking at this point but he hardly cared.

“No, that’s enough,” Cyclonus said, and then after a moment added. “Thank you.” 

Swerve let up after that, taking Tailgate’s glass as he went. Though their brief interaction had probably lasted only a minute or two, Cyclonus felt as if it had been ages. When had his sense of discipline degraded so far?

He looked down between his own legs to see a bright blue visor that held the answer. Two servos, both slick with something and marring his plating with their wetness, slid up his thighs, as Tailgate started to wiggle his way into his lap, his panel most definitely open, and leaking a bit of lubricant, the wet folds of his valve being flashed at him as he did so.

“Tailgate, you can’t-,” Cyclonus started, but was quickly cut off as Tailgate demonstrated that he most certainly could, and most certainly would.

“They see you in my lap all the time, it will just look like we’re cuddling extra close,” Tailgate’s servo was around his spike guiding it towards his valve. With surprising grace for someone normally as clumsy and prone to disaster as himself, Tailgate slipped Cyclonus’ spike into him.

For a while they were quiet, largely from Tailgate focusing on keeping a steady rhythm of little jolts that let him rise of Cyclonus’ lap just enough, and then slide himself minutely back down. Cyclonus on the other servo was trying to keep himself together. He drew in steadying intakes and denied requests for his vents to turn on as he watched his core temperature rise. 

He’d like to think that Tailgate knew if he didn’t hurry things up he ran the risk of causing his heating system to redline, but Tailgate’s tendency to forget or push a joke too far deprived him of any real assurance. A part of him felt shaky and passive under Tailgate, while another part of him curled within himself, ready to lash out and seize control of the situation. He tried to reign in the situation.

“Tailgate, this is,” Cyclonus struggled through his chastisement as the mini rocked his hips eagerly, his spike grinding deliciously against his ceiling node as he did so. He lost his train of thought for a moment as Tailgate ground down on him hard, valve clenching down as well and with a weak little snarl Cyclonus overloaded, servos gripping Tailgate to him possessively as he did so.

Tailgate himself let out a happy little hum. The mini didn’t seem to mind the nicks and dings Cyclonus gave him as they interfaced, laughing at Cyclonus’ overly formal attempts at apology. Cyclonus was beginning to think he enjoyed them.

“I’ll repay you for this,” Cyclonus threatened weakly. Tailgate responded by bumping his helm against Cyclonus’ cheek in what he’d learned was Tailgate’s rendition of a kiss. Letting out a sigh he indulged Tailgate by letting the mini cuddle closer to him. The moment of bliss was ended when Tailgate promptly hopped off his lap, his valve panel clicking closed.

Tailgate unsubspaced a few napkins, passed half to Cyclonus, and then busily started wiping down his paneling before handing Cyclonus the other half. Cyclonus stared at them begrudgingly before noting the dismal state of his plating and acceding to the fact he’d have to wipe down his plating with bar napkins if he wanted anything close to a dignified exit.

An impatient Tailgate crawled over Cyclonus’ lap and disappeared around the corner of their booth.

Cyclonus was left to pay their tab as Tailgate distractedly wandered over to chat with Rewind and Chromedome once he deemed his plating in good enough condition. Cyclonus tried not to die of second hand embarrassment at the large smear of purple on Tailgate’s aft which presented itself to him as he watched his almost conjunx talk animatedly to his friends.

Cyclonus turned around to see Swerve staring in the same direction, amused expression on his face. “Well it seems like Tailgate showed up after all,” Swerve grinned, before turning his gaze to Cyclonus eyebrows raised.

“I apologize for any impropriety,” Cyclonus said as he slid his empty glass across the bar and deposited quite a bit more than the required shanix. It was the closest Swerve had ever heard his voice come to the tone of sheepish. The mini tossed back his helm and laughed loud and obnoxious.

“Aww, don’t worry, Tailgate tipped me off. Replace that table next time we’re in port and I’ll call it even,” Swerve chuckled.

“He told you?” Cyclonus started to ask, genuinely dumbfounded expression crossing his face. Swerve nodded.

“Y’know when you two met I was worried Tailgate was in over his head. Now I’ve got to thinking it’s the other way around,” Swerve said with another huff of laughter, grabbing the shanix and glass off the table.

It wasn’t until Tailgate made his merry way back over to him that Cyclonus was brought out of his reverie of puzzling over the veracity of that statement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took time off for the holidays. Next up is either spinkrok or the aerialbots, I know either ship not so bueno, so a bit of research is required lolol.


	16. Day 28- Distension Skyfire/Starscream/Thundercracker/Skywarp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by https://twitter.com/TrinarySuns/status/1327065450031710208, so credit to Trinary for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah this is a mess so ig content warning for bad relationship negotiations?

Skyfire had been immensely flattered when Starscream invited him home over break. He hadn’t seen much of Cybertron apart from his home city of Iacon, and Starscream, a rather insular and unaffectionate mech didn’t seem like the type to have friends over or well… have friends.

He’d seen the mech get in a fight over the periodic table once. He wasn’t really sure how someone so small could have so much room for anger. Skyfire himself had found he’d barely been raised to half hearted annoyance when his beakers were shoved off his desk by a disgruntled mech who thought he shouldn’t be allowed in the program. Functionalism at its finest, he supposed.

Starscream seemed to find the anger on his behalf and chewed out anyone who so much as looked at Skyfire dirty. Skyfire appreciated it, or at least, he found it amusing and endearing. He watched the furious seeker square up to mecha twice his size in his honor, and a time or two had stopped those same mecha from trying to put a fist sized dent in his friend.

So when Starscream had approached him, appearing the closest he had ever seemed to shy, wings slightly angled down and pede tapping impatiently as he borderline instructed Skyfire to come home with him, Skyfire had been elated. He’d agreed to come right then and there.

Here he was, gazing down at two very familiar looking mecha. 

“I didn’t know you had siblings?” Skyfire said curiously as he watched purple Starscream choke back laughter, while blue Starscream’s cheeks puffed out in a pout.

“Related,” the purple one snorted, jabbing a thumb at Starscream, “to him? No way I’d be sane.”

“He’s Skywarp, I’m Thundercracker, we’re Starscream’s trine,” Thundercracker looked at Skywarp unimpressed as Starscream glared, lip jutting out slightly in what was definitely not the start of a pout. 

Skyfire tried not to let his smile falter, but he found it a task. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have feelings for Starscream. He’d even hoped that getting invited back with him would be a step to something… a little more in their relationship? If you could even call it that.

Starscream and him had kissed a time or twenty. It had never gotten much past that though, he wasn’t sure why and he didn’t want to pressure Starscream and make him feel like he had to do anything. Not that Starscream was all that easily pressured, but Skyfire got the feeling that he sometimes did things for Skyfire he wouldn’t otherwise normally do.

So maybe now this all made sense, he was a taken mech. He’d just flirted a bit to have some fun, maybe it was part of his sense of humor. He probably hadn’t meant to lead Skyfire on, maybe he wasn’t? The whole thing about seekers courting mecha outside their trine might be true. 

Still, Skyfire really couldn’t repress the fact he felt a bit stung. Maybe he had just been a fling and now Starscream was showing him exactly where he stood before things got out of hand.

“Ah that’s, that’s so nice. Star never mentioned,” Skyfire forced a smile as he spoke and tried his best to keep his lip from trembling. Thundercracker was looking at him intently. 

“Star never told you, huh? Funny,” Skywarp came close to Starscream and looped an arm around him, dragging his irritated trinemate in close. Starscream tried to push him away, but Skywarp being larger and not at all intimidated by Starscream’s bluster, didn’t bat an optic and held him close.

Thundercracker cut gracefully between the struggling pair and Skyfire and looked up at him with contemplative optics before speaking.

“You must be tired, Iacon is a long way, come settle down and refuel with us,” Thundercracker didn’t wait for a response before turning and grabbing Skywarp by a wing, apparently tightly enough that Skywarp got the message to stop hassling Starscream and let him go.

Skyfire followed them. Their complex was large, almost intimidatingly so. He bit his lip as he looked at the elegant corridors that split off into more alleys that stretched away beyond sight.

“I had no clue your home would be so roomy,” Skyfire commented absentmindedly as he glanced back at the group. He tried to take in the scenery in an attempt to let his racing processor settle itself. Skywarp was still being held by his wing and in the process of trying to jostle it out of Thundercracker’s grip.

“His home,” Skywarp snorted derisively, following it with a sharp bark of laughter, which got him another tug from Thundercracker and a stern look. Skywarp was now pouting in a way that looked very similar to Starscream’s and something about that made Skyfire’s spark clench.

“It’s my familial home, several generations of my family live here,” Starscream explained with a soft smile directed at Skyfire that made his spark stutter, before the expression shifted to an irritated glare directed at Skywarp. He continued, “And one very insolent trinemate.”

“But you love me anyways,” Skywarp managed to break free of Thundercracker’s grip with one violent wing twitch and threw himself back at Starscream, encasing him in a hug. His optics flicked up to Skyfire a moment before he asked, “Don’t you?”

Starscream looked like he was struggling to repress a smile as he shoved back at Skywarp and the other relented, still keeping his other arm slung around Starscream’s waist as they walked.

“And your family is?”

“Star is technically a prince,” Thundercracker said, sidling up to him as the other two walked ahead.

“Ah I see,” Skyfire said, even though he was very, very quickly starting to feel far out of his depth. A small stone dropped in a very large pond. Skyfire himself was from humble beginnings. His frame type found work easily, but not necessarily fulfilling or intellectually challenging work. 

“I guess that makes sense.”

“In what way?” Thundercracker peered at him curiously. They were somehow slower than the two ahead of them as Skyfire walked at a casual lumber and Thundercracker seemed content to pace him.

Skyfire gestured vaguely, “Starscream, he’s very smart. But very… er… strong willed.”

“You can say bad tempered, it’s alright,” Thundercracker chuckled, smile pulling up in a way that made his features look clever and slightly mischievous.

“I just always wondered how he hadn’t been kicked out yet,” Skyfire said honestly. He’d seen Starscream did things that even non flight frames would have a hard time pulling off without getting expelled. “I always wondered why they just didn’t kick him out.”

“They’d be missing out on a very sizeable donation each year is why,” Thundercracker said with an exasperated roll of his optics. “Though Starscream has a way of making no amount of money seem worth it. It’s almost impressive.”

“He’s certainly charming in his own way,” Skyfire said absentmindedly as he watched Starscream’s face scrunch up into a frustrated expression he always considered immensely adorable.

“So do you like him?” 

Skyfire was so caught off guard by the question he nearly tripped over nothing. Thundercracker reached out to steady him, but Skyfire managed to steady himself on the wall as he slammed his servo against it with a rather loud thud.

“Starscream is a very good friend,” he said once he’d recovered, optics darting over to Thundercracker and back nervously.

“I don’t mean it like that,” Thundercracker said pointedly and Skyfire was feeling rather close to being interrogated and very lost indeed. “You don’t have more serious feelings for him?”

Skyfire could feel the energon pulsing through his fuel lines as he looked between Thundercracker and the two ahead and wondered how much of their conversation, if any of it, they had heard.

“They’re not paying us any mind, if you feel put on the spot, don’t worry,” Thundercracker soothed. Starscream ahead of them pushed open two great doors and Thundercracker glanced at him and then back at Skyfire.

“We should continue this talk later, if I know Starscream he’s probably been less than clear about his intentions.” With that, Thundercracker departed, rushing forward to grab one door as Skywarp grabbed the other and together the two held the way for Starscream to march through regally, followed by a shyly trudging Skyfire who dipped his head in thanks to both seekers. As soon as he was clear of the doors, Skywarp warped off somewhere out of sight, only a dim purple haze left behind.

Starscream twirled around gesturing to what was actually a very large dining hall. It looked like it could hold well over fifty mecha at once.

“Oh,” Skyfire said, awestruck. Starscream preened at his reaction.

“This is the dining hall. Everyone would’ve loved to have fueled with you, but we didn’t expect you to be getting in so late from Iacon,” Thundercracker explained.

“The flight conditions were terrible,” Starscream complained. “We would have left early had I known they were going to be like that.” 

Thundercracker pulled out a chair near the end of the table out for Skyfire to sit on, then ended up pulling out a second one for the shuttle to perch awkwardly on.

“Sorry, didn’t think that far ahead,” Thundercracker murmured as he shuffled into his own seat directly across from him. Starscream sat himself at the end of the table while Skywarp popped back into the room with a crack of his drive. He set down three cubes of energon and then cracked out of the room again and returned with a larger cube which he set down in front of Skyfire.

“Usually use these for decoration or for filling with energex for a whole table,” Skywarp laughed. Skyfire decided he liked the sound, and he liked Skywarp. He could see how the lighthearted mech was good for Starscream’s often stormy disposition. The same with Thundercracker and his pervasive calmness. Skyfire’s spark ached. He just wished that liking them didn’t feel like such a conflict of interest. 

“We don’t have other frame types over often,” Thundercracker added. The conversation settled down a bit as everyone took their first sip. Thundercracker turned to Starscream and asked for updates on his schooling and the two of them quickly became rather absorbed in discussing something about Iacon’s upcoming elections and its effect on Vos’ own.

Skyfire nearly choked on his energon as he felt a servo on his thigh while he took a drink. He looked down to see Skywarp looking up at him with a cheeky grin. Skyfire jumped enough to bang the table, drawing two sets of optics over to him.

Skyfire was, in all honesty, very confused in this particular moment. His confusion only compounded when the ever astute Thundercracker noticed Skyfire’s stricken expression and Skywarp’s mischievous one and reprimanded him gently.

“Skywarp don’t grope the guest without his consent,” Thundercracker chastised primly as he sipped his meal. This prompted Starscream to glance down to Skyfire’s lap, notice the intruding servo and smack it with a resounding “clang”.

“What did I say about touching him!” Starscream’s voice resounded loudly throughout the hall which prompted a “Starscream people are sleeping,” comment from Thundercracker. He lowered his voice to a near growl, red optics flashing ominously.

“I told you, Iaconians are different, you can’t just throw yourself at him like you would someone born and raised in Vos.”

“Throw yourself at them?” Skyfire repeated dumbfounded as he watched the two continue to squabble, both of them leaning more and more into his lap as they got into each other’s faces.

“How was I supposed to know-,” he heard Skywarp exclaim.

“You would know if you listened you thick helmed, cement processor. How much of that warp drive is frying your processor-,” Starscream raged in a whisper yell. Skyfire merely looked at Thundercracker, helplessly lost as the other stared at his trinemates with a thoroughly unimpressed look. After a moment he seemed to notice Skyfire looking at him.

“Skyfire, do you even know why you were invited here?” Thundercracker asked gently. Starscream halted in his chewing out of Skywarp to look over in their direction intently.

“I thought this was maybe… a sort of date?” Skyfire hunched in on himself sheepishly as he felt his cheeks flush with the admission. He didn’t see any point in lying about the misconception, it was an honest mistake, right? Right.

“It is a date, exactly that,” Starscream straightened himself out from growling in Skywarp’s face to address Skyfire who’s brow only furrowed further at the admission.

“But… you’re trined?” Skyfire asked, confused.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Skywarp said with a dismissive flick of his servo to Skyfire’s increasing bafflement.

“What he means,” Thundercracker sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “is that trines vary a lot in dynamics and structure. And are always subject to change.”

“It’s not uncommon to take on a fourth, particularly shuttles. They have tactical relevancy in wartimes, there’s a proud history of it and all,” Starscream said in a dull monotone, suddenly seeming a lot less excited about the concept of taking a fourth than he had moments before.

“That sounds a little… functionalist for you Star,” Skyfire attempted to broach the topic carefully, watching as his friend’s expression soured.

“No, Starscream’s actually against all that functionalist nonsense,” Thundercracker hummed distractedly, drawing a circle with his digit on the table slowly.

“He’s been reading too much of that weird old poet’s books,” Skywarp laughed, dodgin a sharp elbow aimed his way that instead drove itself into Skyfire’s gut, prompting the large mech to let out a wheeze.

“Sorry,” Starscream mumbled, rubbing the spot where he’d elbowed Skyfire while glaring nastily at Skywarp. “He isn’t old.”

“He was sparked two million years before you, he’s ancient,” Skywarp tilted back on one of his chair legs, perhaps unwisely, as Starscream quickly tried to upend him, splaying himself across Skyfire’s lap to do so.

Skyfire tried to gain both his breath and his orientation in the conversation back. “Then…?”

“Then why bring it up?” Thundercracker asked for him. “It’s a nice cover. Taking a fourth is a fairly normal practice, but not in mecha of pedigree,” Thundercracker tilted his head towards Starscream. “The exception being shuttles which have a precedent and a tactical use.”

“Star pulled something similar with trining us, Primus knows his family wouldn’t have liked him trining two filthy outsiders otherwise,” Skywarp snickered. “Claimed our outlier abilities were a unique advantage.”

“So this all means?” Skyfire persisted looking down at the seeker in his lap intently.

“We’re trying to court you of course, or start courting,” Starscream said as if it should have been obvious, then promptly wriggled along in Skyfire’s lap to shove Skywarp’s chair over so that the other seeker slammed to the floor with a noisy clatter.

“Starscream,” Thundercracker hissed. “You’re going to get the guards sent in here.”

“Guards, of course he has guards,” Skyfire said faintly.

“We should go back to our quarters now that dinner has been thoroughly unsatisfactory,” Thundercracker muttered as Starscream let out an ugly laugh at the look of Skywarp’s irritated and dazed expression as he hauled himself to a sitting position.

“Back to our quarters, yeah that sounds about right,” Skywarp muttered and from his position on the floor he grabbed Skyfire’s ankle and Thundercracker quickly rushed around the table to touch his wing gently. The four of them were then promptly teleported through the castle to land in a rather spacious room with a sizeable berth.

Skyfire tried to steady his freshly refueled tanks so that he didn’t purge all over what looked to be very expensive flooring.

“Oh sorry about that, the first couple times always upset the tanks,” Skywarp slapped his back cheerfully which did not do much at all to settle his tanks.

“Well, I suppose, I should get off to my own quarters,” Skyfire said, looking between the three seekers and the berth and then the door.

“Nonsense,” Starscream tossed his helm towards the berth. “Why do you think we had such arrangements made, these are your quarters.”

“Oh so then, should you be getting back to yours?” Skyfire said nervously, letting out a large wing twitch as he saw a smirk pass along all three seeker’s faces.

“Nah, we were thinking of staying with you tonight,” Skywarp said, servo trailing along the seam of one giant wing. Skyfire shuddered and the look on Skywarp’s face grew outright hungry.

“We would be poor hosts to let you be short of company,” Thundercracker continued, optics scaling his frame in a manner that made Skyfire’s panels grow warm.

Starscream pouted at him and put his servos on his hips, impatiently flicking his wings, “Besides, I thought you wanted to spend more time with me?”

“I do, I’m just,” Skyfire’s optics darted to the rest of Starscream’s trine. “Is this really okay?”

“Of course,” Starscream shot a look at his trine who nodded and smirked in response, before he turned his helm back to Skyfire, optics softening a fraction as he leaned in close and asked softly, “Is it okay with you?” 

“I don’t know what this courting stuff is,” Skyfire began and it was hard for him to keep the stutter out of his voice after he realized how close Starscream was. Starscream was small, smaller than most seekers, but he always commanded an aura of power and confidence and sometimes that aura had Skyfire going a bit weak kneed. 

“We can talk about that later,” Starscream huffed. “None of this has to be serious or formal right now.” Starscream trailed a digit up Skyfire’s neck, under his chin. “Can’t we just get to know each other better,” he husked, scratching at the cabling in a way that sent tingles down Skyfire’s struts and to the tips of his wings.

“O-oh, alright,” Skyfire agreed. 

“Can my trine touch you as well?” 

Skyfire was caught off guard by the question as he remembered that there were indeed two other mecha in the room with them. Primus he was bad at this.

“It’s alright if the answer is no, I can send them away,” Starscream flicked his servo in demonstration and behind him Skywarp made an annoyed noise, while Thundercracker rolled his optics. 

“No no, if they’re alright with it, then I am too,” Skyfire said earnestly. He was actually rather used to casual interfacing. Shuttles were a huge draw, bordering on being seen as an odd brand of interface tourism, and he wasn’t opposed to a bit of fun. He’d largely dropped the habit when he became more interested in the prospect of pursuing Starscream.

“I’m more than alright with it, this is going to be the highlight of my week,” Skywarp announced as he started to shuffle his way around to Skyfire’s front on his knees. He wasted exactly zero time before putting a servo on Skyfire’s interface panel, splaying his digits wide.

“Skywarp!” Starscream tried his best to sound offended even as his optics seemed drawn to the spot his trinemate had just touched. He whacked Skywarp’s servo away with a clang.

“What! It’s gotta be huge, it’s bigger than my servo,” Skywarp wriggled the offending item, prompting Starscream to try and slap it away again. Thundercracker made his way over and was glancing down curiously at Skyfire’s groin, before averting his optics.

“I thought we were going to ‘face not just sit here awkwardly all night,” Skywarp complained and then, before common sense or Starscream could stop him Skyfire felt something very warm and wet licking at his interface panel. He’d later justify that it was the long flight that had him invigorated, or just the way Starscream and his trine had been teasing him all night, but either way, his interface opened with a clang.

“Ooo,” Skywarp let out an excited groan before Skyfire found his spike gripped between two apparently very practiced servos.

Any pretence of modesty was dropped by Starscream and Thundercracker as the two peered at his spike. Skyfire quickly felt his face heat up as he watched Starscream absentmindedly lick his lips.

“So who’s going to go first?” Skyfire asked abruptly, looking up at Skyfire expectantly. He quickly broke out into a grin as he noted the flustered expression on Skyfire’s face. 

“It’s either Skywarp or me, because Star is the one who initiated, so he goes last,” Thundercracker added. “Of course we don’t have to do that if you’re too uncomfortable.”

Skyfire only felt his face burn more as he struggled to get a grip on his emotions. He was honestly feeling a bit faint.

“He’s blushing, aww.”

Unsurprisingly, being cooed at only made Skyfire’s situation worse.

“You can go first,” Thundercracker edged himself away, looking at Skyfire’s spike like he thought it would bite him.

Starscream chewed his lip thoughtfully and then nodded in agreement.

“Alright big guy,” Skywarp cheered, as he slid up into Skyfire’s lap. “Don’t worry, I’m pretty good with a stretch.” Skywarp said this with an easy sort of confidence. He straddled Skyfire’s lap, the lips of his valve wasting no time in nestling the head of Skyfire’s spike between them. 

Skywarp rubbed himself over the head, optics watching Skyfire’s reaction with playful glee. With a sharpness that Skyfire certainly wouldn’t have recommended, Skywarp pushed his way down the spike. He seemed to immediately regret the action, wince plain on his face. Thundercracker was by his side in a moment, servo gripping Skywarp’s spike and rubbing it.

“Do not force yourself,” was ordered sternly by Thundercracker, as Starscream appeared beside him to peer at the spike now lodged in his trinemate.

“How does it feel?” Starscream asked impatiently, glaring at where Skyfire and Skywarp were connected with a borderline resentful expression.

“Like you’re trying to cram your fist up my aft again, but it’s my valve this time,” Skywarp wheezed, trying to grin but faltering slightly.

“I can pull out?” Skyfire suggested, brow pinching in concern at the quivering frame above him. If Skywarp was Starscream’s trinemate, and any quality of Starscream had rubbed off on him, it was probably his borderline insane stubbornness.

“No, no, it’s fine, just, TC keep doing that,” Skywarp groaned as Thundercracker nodded and redoubled his efforts on pleasuring Skywarp. Slowly, Skyfire felt him loosening up and the seeker began to slide down his spike. The pain ebbed away from his expression though it still held a slight pinched quality.

As Skywarp made his way fully down on Skyfire’s spike, he let out a sigh of relief. The plating over his fuel tank was slightly protruded.

As the minutes passed, Skyfire held still. He was used to this, having to be patient. He looked Skywarp over more closely. As he did, he noticed the mech was actually very different from Starscream. There was a sort of greenness to him, an immaturity, that the other let free so easily.

It was nowhere near the near constant polished facade Starscream attempted to upkeep. The one that only broke in rare moments of weakness and vulnerability. He rather liked the unbounded energy and emotion he could sense radiating out of Skywarp.

“You can move now,” a slightly raspy voice told him. Skyfire looked down to see Skywarp attempting to rock himself on his spike. “I can take it.”

Skyfire grabbed a hold of Skywarp and pushed up into him slowly, rocking back and forth in a gentle starting motion. Skywarp made a slight wheezing sound and let his optics flicker offline.

“Is he alright?” Skyfire asked, slightly concerned. The tight, near scalding heat of Skywarp’s valve was pleasant, deliciously so, but he wanted none of it if it cause his partner discomfort. 

“I’m fine, don’t worry, I’d tell you if I wasn’t,” Skywarp attempted a cocky smile, but his bottom lip trembled just a bit and he let out a gasp as Skyfire felt himself slip a bit deeper. The gasp was followed up by a deep moan.

“We should switch positions,” Skywarp said and before Skyfire could register the statement enough to help lift him off his spike, Skywarp popped off it and landed on the berth with a soft thud, the light crack of his warp drive sounding throughout the room.

“Let’s do it this way,” Skywarp said, waggling his aft at Skywarp as he got onto his knees. His valve was wet and glistening from their earlier warm up and Skyfire set a gentle servo on his hip as he slid himself back in. 

It was easier for him to keep control in this position, slowly ramping up his force as he rocked into Skywarp. Very quickly the mech under him was forced onto his elbows. Skyfire stroked a twitching purple wing in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

Skywarp was panting now, a string of drool falling out his intake as he was gently held up by Skyfire. His frame stiffened a moment then went limp, almost concerningly so.

“Should I stop, am I going too hard?” A worried gaze was leveled at Starscream as Skywarp took a moment to collect himself.

“Don’t you dare,” Skywarp tilted his helm back to glare at Skyfire who smiled down nervously at him. 

“If you’re sure…,” he said apprehensively. 

“I’m sure, I just… can’t move my body to agree right now,” Skywarp admitted breathlessly with a small chuckle, which turned to a groan as Skyfire pushed back inside him. He pumped his spike in and out of Skywarp, feeling his overload building. 

“You can go harder,” Skywarp encouraged. “I won’t break.”

Skyfire knew he very much could and would break if he was careless, but he still picked up his speed slightly, feeling his own overload building again before he felt Skywarp cycle down on him again and not long after emit a wheezy, “Okay, stop.”

Skyfire halted, letting his spike slip wetly out of Skywarp’s valve, gently resting the seeker down on the berth beside him.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“Yeah, just... hitting my limit,” Skywarp managed between apparently trying to sort out his processor as he lay on the berth and the dizziness made him feel like he had a bad case of warp sickness.

Thundercracker petted Skywarp’s wings a bit and then looked to Starscream a moment, then to Skyfire. 

“Guess I’m next,” he shrugged, seeming free of any anxiety. 

He straddled Skyfire confidently, taking the slick appendage in hand and guiding it into himself. Skyfire was surprised by the mech’s forwardness, but didn’t bother to argue with Thundercracker. He did not seem to be a mech who underestimated the situations he jumped into.

He felt much more slick and loose compared to Skywarp. Thundercracker seemed to notice Skyfire’s surprise and smiled slightly. “I prepared a little in advance.”

Skyfire felt his face grow warm at the thought of Thundercracker wrist deep in his own valve preparing himself just to-

A servo trailed down behind where they were connected and Thundercracker looked at Skyfire cautiously, “Can I?”

“Be my guest,” Skyfire was mildly surprised. In truth, he didn’t lean much either way when it came to his valve vs his spike, but most mech either assumed he was a spike mech or only they themselves only wanted his spike.

Skyfire had to control the urge to buck violently up into Thundercracker as his digits brushed his node and gave it a soft rub before trailing down to circle his valve entrance. He lost his resolve when Thundercracker hooked a digit inside while pressing his thumb into his node.

He bucked up and Thundercracker let out a gasp as Skyfire sunk deep into him. Thundercracker placed a servo on his midsection, as if he could feel Skyfire’s spike there. He could, barely feel the plating shifted outward a little and even that small raised bit was enough to make him let out a weak, “Oh Primus.”

“S-sorry,” Skyfire grunted, reaching out a servo to prepare to push Thundercracker off.

“No,” Thundercracker bit his lip as he ground down against Skyfire. “This is perfect.” 

He rode Skyfire in giddy little bounces, occasionally drifting his servo back again to play with Skyfire’s node again, but mostly he just titled his head back and uttered incoherent things in what Skyfire assumed was the Vosian language. 

Skyfire can feel his overload building back up again, but he got the feeling that Thundercracker was on the verge of overload, his thighs quaking in exertion as he bounced. His movements were slowing down.

Skyfire rests two large servos on Thundercracker’s hips and with a questioning look of approval that Thundercracker answered with a nod, he was moving the seeker on and off his spike, thrusting up to meet Thundercracker as he brought him down.

Thundercracker was making desperate noises, and with a final needy shudder and a wet, gripping seize of his valve, Thundercracker was overloading,

By the time Thundercracker had come down a bit from his overload and slid off to lay sleepily on his side, Starscream was staring Skyfire down with dark optics, and he didn't so much walk as stalk his way over, thrusters tapping feather light against the floor. He trailed a servo up to Skyfire’s knee as he drew in between his legs.

“Do you want me to overload you?” Starscream asked, looking down at Skyfire’s almost painfully erect spike, servo ghosting over it. “I can’t believe you’ve overloaded both of them and not once yourself”

He glanced at his two trine members disapprovingly, “What poor hosts.”

“It’s not them, it just takes me a bit,” Skyfire said with a nervous smile, rubbing the back of his helm, slightly embarrassed. He’d actually been anxious about the slim chance he’d get to interface with Starscream. He took a while to overload and he could easily imagine Starscream taking it as a personal affront to his sexual prowess or just getting bored of him.

But that seemed near the opposite now, as Starscream was knelt in front of him, eyeing his spike like some sort of intriguing challenge. His pink tongue darted out from between his lips as he looked at it. 

Optics flicking up to Skyfire, he asked, “Mind if I?” 

“Go ahead,” he agreed, a bit over eagerly if the smirk on Starscream’s face was any indication. 

Being it that Starscream had no ability to unhinge his jaw like some of the terrarian lifeforms Skyfire had studied, his spike was only able to really fit part way into his intake. But that was just fine for Skyfire. Maybe it was the fact the other two had worked him up, or maybe it was just because it was Starscream, but Skyfire at long last could feel the heavy peak of his overload cresting.

And Starscream, seeming to have a sense for it, pulled off, placing one servo on Skyfire’s trembling thigh to push himself back. Skyfire, for his part, tried not to make a noise of complaint, and he could see in the glimmer of Starscream’s optics that the other mech was laughing at him soundlessly.

“It’s nice to have you here,” Starscream murmured as he pressed himself close to Skyfire, lips coming just under his chin, to speak against the sensitive fuel lines of his neck. Skyfire did his best not to shiver as the gesture sent tingles through his frame.

Skyfire didn’t know what to say so he stayed quiet, not trusting his vocalizer not to crack embarrassingly if he spoke now. Starscream seemed to understand, sliding down Skyfire’s cockpit to rub his valve against his achingly hard spike.

“Star,” Skyfire groaned, clenching his denta together so hard they creaked.

“You don’t have to hold back,” Starscream purred, looking up at him with his mouth curled in a sly smirk. It was the same expression he got when he pulled some minor prank, like erasing a coefficient in Skyfire’s notes or hiding his beaker just to laugh as the shuttle bumbled around looking for it. 

Skyfire felt a twinge of fond aggravation at the sight, and before he knew what he was really doing, Starscream’s back was hitting the berth with a thump that shook the whole frame, and Skyfire was breaching him. It was a slow but firm press, aided by the fact that Starscream was wet, Primus was he ever. Was that all natural?

The smug look on Starscream’s face was fading to something more raw and needy and Skyfire wanted more of whatever that was. He had seen Starscream composed, teasing, focused, angry, excited. And now he was seeing yet more sides to him, scooping them up and adding them.

He wanted to know every side, every dimension to the mech under him, know him like the two he was trined to knew him.

Skyfire noticed he had become fully hilted in Starscream as he glanced down at where the two of them were connected.

“You can move,” Starscream huffed, voice just the slightest bit strained. “I can take it.”

“I want you to enjoy it,” Skyfire murmured as he gave his first shallow thrust.

“I am en- oh! -Joying it,” Starscream bit back testily as he struggled to keep coherence. Their conversation dribbled off as Skyfire moved his hips and Starscream found himself distracted.

Neither of them lasted long, maybe it shouldn’t have been a surprise. With a garbled moan, partially covered by his own servo, Starscream overloaded embarrassingly easily. The sound and sight of him threw Skyfire into his overload.

By the time he was spent, Starscream was looking half asleep beneath him. Skyfire moved away from him gently, rolling on the side of him, trying not to hit anyone with his wings. The four of them shuffled around so there was room. Skywarp and Thundercracker seemed to be rousing from their post overload haze. 

At least Skywarp was awake enough to pick a fight.

“Star was trying to keep you all to himself,” Skywarp said conversationally as the four of them lay in a pile of sorts. Starscream was perched under Skyfire’s arm digits idly drawing patterns across his cockpit. Thundercracker was leaning against his leg and Skywarp lay haphazardly slumped across his midsection.

“Was not,” Starscream mumbled disgruntledly as he avoided eye contact with anyone.

“Were too, we didn’t even know about you until he broadcasted you in the spark merge,” Skywarp said, shooting a disapproving look at Starscream. 

“I didn’t think it mattered that much,” Starscream snapped. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t catch on earlier that we were courting you,” Thundercracker addressed Skyfire, ignoring as his two trinemates continued to squabble on between each other. 

“I, er- It’s not a common practice in Iacon. Trines aren’t even really a thing,” Skyfire scratched the side of his helm sheepishly. They were a thing people heard of and fantasized about via the use of corny holotape pornos.

“I think you’re actually the first full trine I’ve met,” Skyfire said as he looked at each of the three seekers individually.

“Well, you won’t need to meet anymore after us,” Starscream said haughtily. “We’re the best trine you can find.” 

Skywarp made some sort of derisive noise which Starscream quickly took action against by way of slamming his servo into the side of his helm. Skywarp merely responded with a whine and a lazy swipe in turn that caught Starscream on the shoulder.

“Anyways,” Thundercracker continued. “You don’t have to make a decision anytime soon. Courting with shuttles is much less common and can be much more protracted. Especially now.”

“Why’s that?” Skyfire asked as he carefully shifted Skywarp a little farther down, out of Starscream’s range, and distracted Starscream from his doings by wrapping his arm around the seeker’s middle.

“Shuttles aren’t common anymore, it actually is,” Thundercracker glanced at Starscream briefly, ignoring the acid glare being sent his way, “common for shuttles to shop around a bit among different trines.”

Skyfire felt Starscream shift restlessly in his grip.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Skyfire hummed, watching as Starscream threw him a brief, surprised glance and settled his small fussing a bit.

“Really, you sure, because let me tell you,” Skyfire saw the swipe coming at Skywarp this time and gently caught Starscream’s servo before it could land. The purple mech continued, unaffected, “Being bonded to Starscream is not easy.”

Skyfire looked at the petulant seeker whose wrist he held gently, turned it over and placed a soft kiss on the back side. Some of the pout on Starscream’s face softed a bit as he held up his other servo and Skyfire kissed that one too. Holding both he smiled softly at Starscream, who turned his whole helm away, face burning.

Skywarp looked like he was resisting the urge to say something obnoxious and Thundercracker was looking between trineleader’s flustered face and Skyfire’s own placidly smiling one with interested curiosity.

Yes, he was sure this would be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk why writing a foursome between the trine and an outside person always gets a bit messy, im not so good at it yet lmao.
> 
> *gestures vaguely*
> 
> anyways sorry for the gap in posting, ive been a bit tired and also distracted


	17. Day 29- Telepathic Bonds Rung/Ratchet

It had been a full week. A full week in which Rung ran down his patience with Ratchet’s end of the bond. When the accident had first happened, and the psychic bond between him and Ratchet had been forged, Rung had anticipated some discomforts, some small issues in need of boundary setting and mediation.

But this?

Maybe Ratchet didn’t realize how much he was siphoning into one end of the bond, maybe Rung was too good at shielding his emotions.

Either way, Rung was finding it increasingly hard to do his job. He’d nearly broken his light pen in half that morning during his session with Whirl. While sometimes dealing with the mech one on one could be a task, he’d found himself closer to snapping than he’d ever been, so much so that even Whirl seemed to clue in on it and back off.

“You okay doc?” Whirl asked, tilting his helm as Rung realized he’d been staring off into space gritting his denta at the influx of exhaustion and irritation.

“Perfectly fine,” Rung said, forcing a smile that probably had far too much of his dentae in it to be convincing. “Now, please continue explaining why you thought it was appropriate to attempt to jettison Swerve out the main trash chute?”

“Well you see, like most of my good ideas, it started with a bet-.”

And on it went until their session ended, and Whirl, not getting nearly the reactions he was used to getting, left the room a bit put out.

Rung found himself sitting in his chair, drawing deep, steadying intakes and counting up and up until he felt calm. Finally, as he reached 1400 and a flash of rage certainly not belonging to him, but impacting him all the same, rattled through his systems. Rung stood up, chair scraping against the floor with a sharp protest.

“Right. Right, right, right, right,” Rung repeated to himself through gritted teeth as he marched his way down the corridors of the Lost Light, walking straight past anyone who tried to give him so much as a friendly wave.

“Ratchet,” Rung strode into the medbay his gait so stiff and the look on his face so foreboding that First Aid, who rose to intercept him, took one look and decided he was better off letting Ratchet deal with it.

“A minute,” Ratchet huffed, flicking through a datapad. Rung could tell from his end of the bond that it was a rather unimportant task he was currently engaged in, and more just Ratchet’s neurotic dedication to his work that kept his attentions away from him.

Rung strode up to him, plucked the datapad from Ratchet’s servos and handed it off to First Aid. 

“You’ll be taking over as CMO shortly, yes? I think you can handle this,” Rung said, smiling tightly at First Aid who merely took the datapad and nodded before making himself scarce.

“We need to talk,” Rung said, turning his attention back to a now glaring Ratchet. Rung felt a flare of irritation wash through him, and then after a moment's hesitation, he opened up his side of the bond to let that irritation flow over to Ratchet. The rush of emotion seemed to knock the medic off kilter for a moment.

“Distracting isn’t it?” Rung said, tone returning back to its usual soft demeanor as he saw discomfort and maybe even a hint of guilt flash across Ratchet’s face. “Now I know this isn’t easy for you, but you and I should work together to get this under control-.”

“I don’t want a therapy session with you,” Ratchet bit out sharply. Indignation and obstinance flared through the bond following Ratchet’s outburst. He was quite sore about the datapad, Rung could see.

“An interface then, I don’t care,” Rung threw up his servos in exasperation. “You clearly need some sort of stress release and I can give you that in a professional or unprofessional manner.”

Ratchet seemed caught off guard by that. He merely stared dumbly at Rung for a moment.

Rung pushed his spectacles up on his face as he sighed, “You know, I have been around for quite a while and know my way around a berth. Don’t let my unassuming looks mislead you, I’m perfectly capable of helping you ease some tension in your manner of choice.”

“Are you now?” Ratchet murmured, and his voice was soft, contemplative, and he was looking Rung over, assessing him, while the bond betrayed his intrigue. Flashes of various sex acts, rather creative ones, Rung must admit, were sent his way through the bond.

“Unorthodox, but not impossible,” Rung commented, almost absentmindedly. Ratchet looked startled for a moment, before Rung sent him back a few ideas of his own. Telepathic sexting, add that to the list of things Rung never expected to be a willing participant in.

He was met with a lukewarm flare of arousal, before Ratchet’s processor reminded him he was still on shift and still had a load of tasks to see through before the day was out, and really he should get that datapad back from Aid-

His comm beeped with a number, Rung’s hab suite number, the bond politely informed him.

“You come to my hab and I will both give you whatever you want, and in return you and I can practice dampening the bond. You seem to be a mech of privacy, surely you’d appreciate having the option returned to you?” Rung said, not bothering to look back to see if Ratchet gave his assent. He’d be there, whether it was out of perceived necessity or curiosity, or a just plain good time.

The knock came later in the evening. Rung was reading idly through a paper put out by Froid. It wasn’t very good, and he didn’t agree with the conclusions, but it at least let him take some of his frustration, kudos of Ratchet, out on something inanimate via the red markings of critique which littered the datapad he was reading on.

He even fantasized a little about actually sending the report back to Froid. That gave him a little shiver of excitement, the look on his face….

His thoughts were interrupted by a heavy pounding on his door, followed instantly by a flash of uncertainty through the bond. Before Ratchet could even think to act on that feeling, Rung had opened the door, taken him by the servo, and let him inside.

His hab, he liked to think, was cozy. He had a few books and papers at a desk he’d dug out of the ship’s storage, with a lamp that added a softer sort of glow than the harsh sterile light of the hab’s usual bulbs.

“Would you like to come in?” he asked Ratchet as he noticed the medic hovering at the edge of the entrance into the hab.

“You conduct sessions in here?” Ratchet asked as he peered around the room. 

“No, I prefer to keep work and home separate, I have an office, you should stop by some time,” Rung said as he patted the berth. “You’re welcome to sit.”

Ratchet eyed the bed as if it were some sort of trap, before moving over to sit heavily on it.

“I told you I don’t need therapy.”

“I wasn’t seeking to enroll you in any, I merely appreciate visitors of any kind. A friendly chat is always a delight,” Rung said pleasantly.

Ratchet merely snorted at that. “Well, should we get on with this lesson of yours?”

“Sure. Is it alright if I touch you? Any areas I should avoid?” 

Ratchet squinted a bit, “My shoulders if you are planning to put any heavy pressure anywhere, I’d ask you to avoid them.”

“Alright, thank you, I’ll remember that,” Rung said with a small smile.

They started slow. At first it was just Rung running his servos along Ratchet’s frame, his arms, his chassis, his legs.

“I want you to focus on the sensation,” Rung murmured as he worked. “Just focus on what you are feeling.”

After a minute or two he heard Ratchet’s fans click on. Through the bond he felt his dull arousal. As Ratchet focused on the feeling though, it dimmed away.

“Alright, good. When sensations are more intense there’s a bit of a different tactic to managing the bond. Would you please open your modesty panel for me?”

Ratchet did so. Like most of Ratchet, his valve was well kept and humble in appearance. Nothing particularly flashy, appealing in its simplicity.

He worked a digit into the medic, followed quickly by another. Ratchet’s heavy drawn face gradually grew slack as Rung worked him open. He traced around areas he knew he had liked back when he was still self servicing, humming softly to himself as he did so.

“Good,” Rung said soothingly. “Now there’s a sort of mental clench, focus on your emotions, and then focus on the sort of buzz behind them. Focus on it until that buzz feels dimmer. Easy, good,” As Rung talked him through it he actually did feel Ratchet begin to seal off his side of the bond, the rush of emotions and thoughts ebbing to a near drip even as he stroked inside Ratchet’s valve.

Ratchet was clearly feeling a lot, judging by the pleasured expression on his face, but very little of that was being relayed to Rung. A brush to Ratchet’s node shattered the doctor’s concentration and the bond flew open.

Not that Rung minded. The brush of Ratchet’s pleasure and intrigue, both at their exercise and Rung himself was a delight for Rung to experience. Much better than the deluge of sour feelings and frustrations he’d been hit with previously.

“Getting a bit distracted from the task are we?” Rung chuckled.

Ratchet looked irritated, but there was affection in his voice when he spoke, “You try keeping enough focus shut when someone’s wrist deep in you. Do you even self service regularly?”

Rung did not. Not often anyways. He shrugged. 

“Not usually my inclination, no.”

“We’ll, why don’t we take this a little further and see how great you’re lauded self control is,” Ratchet propositioned boldly. There was the barest hint of a husk to his voice, and Rung was struck with the realization that he was getting into the kind of situation he’d not been in for well over a millenia.

“I never said-,” Rung started, protesting merely to be pedantic and to put the brakes on the situation escalating far out of his anticipated realm. Interfacing, self servicing, yes he’d really fallen off that habit.

“You implied plenty. What do you say?” Ratchet was looking at him challengingly. He looked younger like that, bold, slightly mischievous. Rung realized that mecha had a habit of treating Ratchet like he was infallible, and that maybe this particular interaction was of a different flavor than the old medic was used to. The tired mix of condescension and just slightly fond exasperation was gone. In their place was the spark of intrigue and a sort of playfulness he’d never seen from the medic.

“Well, who am I to deny a quest for knowledge,” Rung acceded after a moment, and Ratchet flashed him a grin that only made him look even more handsome. And he was handsome, especially so when he looked present in himself, not caught up in some far off slog of worries and what ifs.

So that’s how Rung found himself watching the wet slide of Ratchet’s valve up and down his spike as the medic bounced his way heartily towards their mutual overloads. He found himself enraptured by the way his lips spread with each descent, and the slick noises it made, and how Ratchet’s servos on his chest felt.

Rung was clinging onto the bond, if only by a thread. He could feel his pleasure seeping through the bond, flowing over to Ratchet, to mingle and resonate and seemingly return back even stronger.

“I’ll admit,” Rung managed as his vocalizer tried several times to shut itself off. “I underestimated the difficulty of this challenge.”

“Did you now?” Ratchet’s voice was smug and just the slightest bit laced with a purr.

“I did indeed, ah, or perhaps it’s my long hiatus from intimacy,” Rung went on. “But I’ll admit a loss here.”

Ratchet laughed, “That’s very gracious of you.”

Both of them agreed without words through the bond that they’d cease holding back the dam of sensations and emotions that interfacing brought, and as they did the pleasure between them seemed to ratchet up exponentially with each movement. 

Ratchet’s servos moving down his frame sent licks of tingling between the both of them, and likewise when Rung gently grabbed Ratchet’s hips as he rocked up into them.

“I’m not going to hold out much longer,” Ratchet grunted.

“Likewise,” Rung said breathily.

When one of them tipped over, the sensation crashed through the bond, making it hard for them to figure out where one of them started and the other ended. It was like the rolling thunder of a crashing wave, interspersed with flecks of emotions and sensations mingled into one. Their optical feeds shut off and for a bit it was just the two of them together, feeling.

When Rung online his optics, it was to the sight of Ratchet’s face mashed against his spark.

“Are you alright?” He asked as well as probed through the bond.

“I’m something alright. I like interfacing, used to be quite active with it. Never felt something like that,” Ratchet huffed out, as he slowly pushed himself off Rung.

“It was certainly unique,” Rung agreed. 

“Well, gotta say, of all the mecha I could’ve been bound processors with, I don’t think I could’ve picked better than what chance designated me.”

Rung felt a part of himself flutter at that, Ratchet still looked so very handsome, especially now with his lopsided grin that was only growing wider and-

“Ah, I’ve not shut the bond again, have I.”

“Not one bit no,” Ratchet laughed, rich and rolling, as if it was bubbling up from his fuel tanks. “You’re not bad yourself.”

Rung smiled. He had the feeling this whole telepathic bond thing would be smoother sailing from here on out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thunderrod up next bc I need to write this ship or its gonna murder me in my sleep.
> 
> Also happy halloween! 🎃


	18. Day 30- Deep Throating Cyclonus/Censere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of an odd pairing my friend requested. Its set in 2019's canon kinda, but i stole a few things from idw 1 bc theres not a lot of context given for cyclonus in 2019 at least as far as ive read (only on issue 14)

Cyclonus found himself walking out in the barren waste that was the stretch of land outside of Cybetron. There wasn’t a lot out there, at least, not to the normal optic. For Cyclonus though, it was vibrant and full of undead life that would not or could not, shut up.

Ghosts tended to come and go, some of them murmuring in his ear with their otherworldly voices as if them being dead made that kind of thing any less annoying. He walked out, far out, and the farther he got, the less of the dead there was to bother him.

Excluding one. He was pretty, Cyclonus would give him that, stalking behind him deftly with his deep rust red plating alternating with cream white. His long cape billowed out behind him as he moved, the galaxy pattern seeming to shift and change as it did. He was graceful, he was elegant, and he absolutely would not leave Cyclonus alone, his piercing blue optics following him as persistently as his footfalls.

It didn’t bother him at first, mostly because he didn’t talk. But the longer he felt his constant presence dogging his steps, and the less ghosts there were to distract him with their antics, the more agitated Cyclonus got with his apparent traveling buddy.

After about three nights of seeing no other ghosts but that of the one with the cape, lingering at the edge of his camp, Cyclonus snapped. He was sitting at the edge of his camp, next to a lamp he’d brought out with him. 

He’d spend a very long time in the dead dimension, and the nights could be very cold and long and dark, and ever since he’d gotten a taste of that, he preferred to carry a light source out with him into the wastes. He had sheltered behind a larger rock. The wind had picked up and he ended up having to dig a hole for his light to shelter it from the strong gusts.

His vocalizer, not having been used in a few days, rumbled to life with a few clicks and sputters.

“What, what is it? What do you want,” he growled. The ghost merely stared at him but didn’t respond. He continued to stare at him and the ghost drew nearer.

“I was wondering if you’d ever break,” the ghost said, faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Did you follow me in the hopes that I’d amuse you?” Cyclonus asked darkly. He wasn’t often in the mood to suffer company these days.

“I’m already dead, you can drop the threatening act. I’m afraid I don’t have much left to lose so it’s not all that effective.” The ghost came around and sat next to him. 

“So what are you doing out here? You’re very far from your kind.”

“I don’t like my kind, and cities are full of the dead,” Cyclonus grunted, as he looked down to stare into the haze of the lamp in front of him. It’s soft glow cast long shadows even from its terrarian refuge. 

“So you take sabbaticals into the wilderness?” The ghost tilted his head as he asked the question.

“An acquaintance of mine just died, when that sort of thing happens, people sometimes come looking for me,” Cyclonus muttered as he glanced away from the light out into the darkness. He tried not to do that too often, especially out here. He had a habit of seeing things that weren’t there.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” the ghost said, and he actually did sound a bit earnest.

“Acquaintance,” Cyclonus stated again stubbornly.

“You’ve shown more emotion talking about that than you have about anything else since I first laid eyes on you, seems like he was a bit more than-,” the ghost began. Primus, Cyclonus did not enjoy the chatty ones, maybe he was better off going back to the silent treatment. He glared at the ghost and he stopped talking, seeming to clue into Cyclonus’ ire. They lapsed into silence for a moment.

“So do you know who did it?”

“No.”

“Did you do it?”

Cyclonus didn’t take the bait, but he did take a deep, steadying breath. “No.”

“Shame that I’m dead, I used to be quite good at cataloguing deaths,” the ghost said with a hint of pride. “Name’s Censere by the way.”

Cyclonus didn’t respond. 

“I know your name by the by, the other ghosts mention you quite a bit. Cyclonus, I like it. Has a rugged sort of quality to it.” Cyclonus did his best to ignore the playful edge to the ghost’s voice. It was surprising, the amount of ghosts that took a casual pass at him. He would’ve thought the dead had better things to do.

Turns out that Cybertronians were much the same in death as they were in life. Annoying, petty, and overly fixated on the goings on under other’s panels.

Cyclonus nearly leapt out of his frame when he felt the ghost of a touch on his horn. He instinctively rose to a stand, turning in a full circle to see where the touch had come from. He saw nothing in every direction, with the exception of Censere who was looking at him and laughing.

“You are surprisingly jumpy for such a stoic looking mech,” Censere laughed, the sound surprisingly clear over the howling wind. It tinkled like glass, delicate and rolling.

Cyclonus didn’t respond. Censere’s optics dimmed a little as he gazed at Cyclonus with a look he hadn’t seen in a while. 

“You must be lonely, traveling out here in the wastes,” Censere near purred as he drew closer to Cyclonus. “I can imagine it takes its toll on a mech.”

Cyclonus didn’t respond, but he didn’t pull away either. He found in these types of encounters he hardly ever had to do much.

“I can ease you of your burden a bit,” Censere was close now, and the last couple words were said right into his audial. Cyclonus suppressed the urge to shudder as ghostly servos trailed down the side of his neck to his shoulders and then down his chest.

For a mech as restrained and well disciplined as Cyclonus, it was rather embarrassing how quickly Censere’s touch had his panels unlocking, so that his pressurized spike could go free. 

“I’m sure to most mecha your whole quiet stoic deal is enough to mask enough about you,” Censere began, looking at Cyclonus with gentle optics full of curiosity and intrigue. Admittedly, something about that gaze hurt him a bit, pierced him in a way that he thought he’d long become immune to.

Maybe it was the intimacy. Censere leaned in and his lips brushed Cyclonus’, and his spark spun a little faster. It was most certainly the intimacy. 

After they broke apart, Censere’s optics drifted down to Cyclonus’ spike. Cyclonus’ size was often an issue with his partners. He was a large mech, and that meant he came with a large spike. But Censere made short work of him swallowing his spike down his intake, taking him fully in. 

Cyclonus tipped his head back and let out a guttural groan. It had been a while since he’d last ‘faced. A while as in he couldn’t actually remember when. Maybe it was with Galvatron, that mech had always seemed to have more use of his spike than anything else.

Censere’s servos rubbed the inside of his thighs as he swallowed around him. At the rate things were going, Cyclonus wasn’t going to last long at all. Nonetheless, he tried to hang on, he clenched his fists, digging the tips of his claws into the palm of his servo, trying to distract himself with the pain. 

It was a trick he’d learned with Galvatron, because the short term pain was easier to deal with than the disappointed nattering of his superior.

Censere pulled off him, “I don’t think it would be much fun if you overload this easily, now would it?”

Cyclonus didn’t respond. He was used to mecha having their way with him and taking him as they pleased. He wasn’t the type to chase his overload against his partner’s wishes, so he merely relaxed as his charge died back down to a buzzing thrum.

Censere was close now, the two of them were chest to chest, Censere sitting in his lap and nudging the tip of his spike into himself. There was still that same serene smile on his face, and something about it calmed a part of Cyclonus. Actually calmed him, not just settled his emotions back down into the ever growing pool of apathy within him. The one that had threatened to swallow him at the news of-

Calm vs apathy, the distinction was important.

Censere slid down onto him, and maybe it was here that his wall or facade of stoicism started to break down. Cyclonus let out a minute grunt of pleasure as his expression changed to something a bit more vulnerable when Censere’s heat enveloped him. 

“That feels good doesn’t it?” Censere asked him gently, and his servos were on the side of his face again, stroking gently, tenderly almost. They rocked together for a while, Censere’s optics drifting closed as he absentmindedly stroked at Cyclonus’ helm while he rode him to completion.

It was probably Primus’ massive dose of cosmic irony that the most he’d felt in millennia was due to a ghost. A phantasm. Maybe Galvatron had been right when he said the dead dimension had owned him even before he set foot in it.

When he overloaded, the sensation, the feeling of calmness and even a distant imitation of bliss, carried troubling thoughts like that out from his processor. Briefly, he was alleviated of their burden.

His transfluid passed right through Censere to land on the ground and on his legs a bit. Censere looked at his mildly started expression with amusement.

“It’s a mental trick, I can manipulate fields even in death to make you feel sensations that aren’t there. My visual presence also helps fill in the gaps. Call it a trick of the light, you wouldn’t be far off,” he explained.

Censere lifted off him, cape sweeping up with him, and once again they were sitting side by side. Cyclonus’ cooling fans were hard at work bringing his core temperature back down to normal levels. His processor was busy sorting itself back into its neat state of unfeeling. The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It held a sort of familiar quality to it.

“I’m sorry again about your friend, if you want, I can keep an eye out for him, let you know if I find out anything,” Censere offered after a short while. 

Cyclonus’ gut instinct was to turn him down. But a part of him really did want to know what happened to Brainstorm. Perhaps so he could personally dent a head or two in retaliation. Perhaps just because he wanted to know, he would recharge better, what little he did, if he knew.

“Thanks,” he said.

“So where are you going now?” Censere looked off into the rising sun. The metal of the planet glinted, reflecting the red light and for a moment the whole of the wastes looked unfamiliar and otherworldly, painted with the colors of the sunrise.

“Back,” Cyclonus replied. Yes, it was time he went back and maybe saw what he could do about the whole Brainstorm situation.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Censere said, voice sounding just the slightest bit wistful, and Cyclonus turned to look at him, only to find he was gone. He sighed. He transformed and took off, rising steadily as he drifted back towards his ill suited refuge of the living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably be writing a pairing for me next....
> 
> Only thing i have left on the req queue is medical play for day 3, thats spinkrok.


	19. Day 31- Free day Brainstorm/Perceptor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for bad sex etiquette.

Perceptor wasn’t really sure when it had started. Maybe it was because Brainstorm’s engine idled just a little bit louder than was usual for most flight frames. Maybe it was because Brainstorm had a habit of revving his engines every so often, when he was excited, or when he had a sudden breakthrough. What Perceptor did know was that working in an enclosed space with him, Perceptor found it hard to ignore.  
After they’d entered the new universe, he and Brainstorm had undeniably been becoming closer. He spent long hours in the lab with Brainstorm who seemed much more present and much less shifty now that most of his secrets had been outed. Perceptor didn’t doubt he still had a few more things in his metaphorical briefcase, but he suspected they were largely harmless.

So they’d ended up close, and then one night, they had ended up kissing, which had resulted in Brainstorm revving his engine in excitement, which in turn had resulted in Perceptor making a small choked noise.

“Perce? You alright?” Brainstorm asked, amber optics peering at him with light confusion and worry. His face plate was off, in fact, a lot of the time it was just the two of them alone in the lab, Brainstorm’s face plate was off. 

“Perfectly fine,” Perceptor attempted to say with his usual staunchness.He could feel a part of him, a gooey, sticky, all too pliant part of him protest at those words.

He should’ve known trouble was around the corner when Brainstorm’s expression turned shrewd and calculating, the way it did when he had found a particularly interesting puzzle to work out.

“Well, if you’re alright to continue….”

So they had. The next time Brainstorm had revved his engines, Perceptor had been able to ignore it and suppress his reactions, though admittedly his cooling fans clicked on during one of them. Brainstorm had moved on, tapping his digits impatiently on Perceptor’s interface panel, while his engine had given a particularly loud rev of excitement. His panel slid up on reflex. 

The game was decidedly up, and the mystery solved when, a few digits deep, Brainstorm once again revved his engine and Perceptor was unable to stop himself from clenching down around the servo inside him.

Between kisses Brainstorm asked him, a slight smirk on his face, “You’re into it aren’t you.”

“Into what?” He tried, but knew it was a moot point, could tell by the mischievous look in Brainstorm’s optics. This was not something he was going to let go of easily.

“My engine, you like the noise, huh,” Brainstorm revved his engine again and again Perceptor’s valve gave him away with an excited little twitch. He wondered if Brainstorm revved his engine hard enough if he could feel the vibrations-.

In his distraction Perceptor didn’t notice the soft noise of enjoyment he let out, or the decidedly evil look that was crawling its way across Brainstorm’s face as numerous ideas slithered their way into his processor. Any further chance to pick up on those things was swiftly done away with as Brainstorm pressed his lips to Perceptor’s and pushed his digits up to rub at a cluster of nodes.

Perceptor overloaded to the sound of Brainstorm’s engine as the other mech was two digits deep and looking over the moon about his discovery.

\---

The next week only proved things could get worse. Brainstorm was making his engines louder, Perceptor wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he had tinkered with them a bit just to get to him. And it was getting to him.

Every so often Brainstorm would rev his engines and it would break Perceptor’s concentration, reminding him of his intimate encounters with Brainstorm. His thoughts would drift to the feel of Brainstorm’s servos on his aft, the feel of Brainstorm’s lips on his own, the way his digits seem to have mapped his pleasure points-

Brainstorm revved his engines, jolting Perceptor out of the daydream that the last one had started. He stalked over to Brainstorm, frustration plain in every step, and had Brainstorm had any shame, he might’ve looked cowed. But this was Brainstorm, so of course he didn’t.

“Is there something I could help you with?” he smirked. Perceptor was bound tight at every seam, cables looking ready to snap, frame almost trembling with the pent up emotion. He looked like he had a tenuous grip on his self control, and if there was anything Brainstorm wanted in that particular moment, it was to see him lose it.

“You know exactly what,” Perceptor glowered.

“I suppose I do,” Brainstorm said, and he gave a particularly loud rev of his engine, and shot Perceptor with a look that said “go for it”. 

So he did. His frame was pressing against Brainstorm’s who in turn was pressing him back and up, until he found himself burping against a lab table. Between hungry, wet kisses, Perceptor still managed to complain.

“I have a deadline.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Brainstorm murmured as he let his servos trail up and down the side of Perceptor’s frame, making it hard for the microscope to keep any sort of resolve.

“Will you now?” Perceptor looked at him incredulously, letting the slight hint of disapproval slip into his tone. He felt a pang of satisfaction go through him when he saw Brainstorm’s optics darken at the challenge.

“Look, I modded a few things for you, I think you’ll like it,” Brainstorm husked and before any further chastisement or protest could spring to mind, Perceptor found himself being cupped firmly. And then Brainstorm was revving his engines, and Perceptor jolted as the vibration from his engine traveled all the way down Brainstorm’s arm directly to his servo which was nicely pressed against Perceptor’s interface panel.

“You- you-,” Perceptor was sputtering as he stared down at the servo against his panel and then up at Brainstorm’s smug expression.

“See, I told you you’d like it,” He revved his engines again and Perceptor could feel an overload coming on embarrassingly fast. He tried to clench his legs shut but that only served to push Brainstorm even more against his already overheated panel. 

“Open up Perce, let me make it up to you,” Brainstorm’s voice was right there in his audial, and Perceptor couldn’t control the full frame shiver that wracked its way through him. Still, stubbornly he resisted.

“I can feel you leaking,” Brainstorm husked, giving his panel an affectionate little rub before he presented a slick digit to Perceptor. “May as well give up the whole dignified act. I know you’re leaking through your panels over the thought of me touching your valve while I rev my engine.

Perceptor offlined his optics as he let out a strangled groan, unable to keep the image of what Brainstorm was describing out of his mind. With a click, his panel was up and Brainstorm let out a pleased little noise as he cupped him.

“You’re so pretty Perce, have I ever told you that?” Brainstorm’s voice was soft, softer than he had ever heard it. Perceptor looked up at him, startled, and before he could search Brainstorm’s expression for a deeper meaning behind those words, panic flashed across Brainstorm’s face.

Perceptor found a digit against his anterior node and he just had time to register his impending doom before Brainstorm revved his engine again. He overloaded. Hot and wet and shamefully messy, right on his own lab desk, on his lab partner’s servo.

“Oh Perce,” Brainstorm breathed before licking a hot stripe up his cables that made his valve clench down on the digits still inside him. 

“Still want more huh?” The gloating note in Brainstorm’s voice was easy to ignore as Brainstorm quickly opened his own panel and pressurized into his own servo. His spike was leaking a steady drip of lubricant, betraying how worked up Brainstorm had gotten over the course of the past few minutes.

The digits still inside him eased out as Brainstorm nudged himself between the folds of Perceptor’s valve.

False bravado cracked for a moment as Brainstorm looked uncertain. Perceptor responded by wrapping his legs around Brainstorm’s waist and pulling him in closer. With a small chuckle, Brainstorm began to push in and Perceptor let his helm tilt back as the pleasant sensation of being filled, being stretched, radiated through his valve. Brainstorm revved his engine again, and he felt himself grip even tighter onto the rigid heat inside him.

“Primus, you feel so good,” Brainstorm breathed, and once again his engines revved. He tapped on Perceptor’s other modesty panel, the one housing his spike and when Perceptor opened that one with much less fuss, Brainstorm pressed his lightly vibrating digit against his spike housing and held it there as he started to thrust into Perceptor.

“Brainst-. Brain-,” Perceptor wanted to beg him to move his digit, to let his spike pressurize, but his vocalizer kept shorting out during the attempt.

“Hmm, what’s that Perce?” Brainstorm revved his engine and the shock of vibration went through his digit, directly against his housing, as his valve seized down around the spike deep inside him. Brainstorm felt his digit get damp, and as he finally, blessedly moved it aside, Perceptor let out a half sob. His limp spike didn’t so much exit his spike housing as it oozed out of it limply.

“Always wondered if you could overload inside the housing,” Brainstorm murmured as he slowed down his thrusts to a leisurely pace, idly stroking Perceptor’s spike. Perceptor tried to let out some garbled thought, but gave up when his vocalizer shorted out. 

“I think we can get one more out of you, wanna test that hypothesis?” Brainstorm was peering down at Perceptor, who by now was drifting off in a contented haze, all the former agitation and tension gone from his frame as the other mech was practically a puddle against the lab table.

“Perce?” Brainstorm tapped his cheek lightly and the other mech stirred, looking slightly more present for a moment. “You good for another round or you want to stop here?”

Perceptor’s vocalizer clicked futility for a few seconds, before Perceptor gave up, instead just throwing up a shaky thumbs up.

Brainstorm chuckled. “We can work on giving your vocalizer some sort of surge protection next time, if you want. I know I’d like to hear you after your first overload.”

Brainstorm was thrusting into him again, in short, punching little jabs. His engine was revving, louder and louder the whole time and finally as Brainstorm’s pace was beginning to falter, Perceptor found his anterior node being pinched between two vibrating digits. His valve seized weakly, his callipers exhausted from the work they’d already done all night.

Perceptor managed out a crackled “Brainstorm” and of course, hearing his own name on his esteemed lab partner’s lips, Brainstorm tipped over, spilling his transfluid deep into Perceptor as he rode out another overload that bordered on painful. His valve let out one last weak dribble of transfluid and his spike receded back into its housing.

The last thing Perceptor saw before he let himself slip into recharge was Brainstorm’s curious amber optics and his mouth forming some sort of words that his processor was far beyond caring enough to try to string together.

Like his impending deadline, he’d worry about it later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend had a pretty niche craving for Perceptor getting turned on by Brainstorm's engine, so that's how we ended up here.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so this is my Midnight Double Feature Picture Show! 2 fics in one day, wowie!
> 
> If you wanna request a kink + a pairing, these are the prompts I'm using(link at the end). I'm already writing a fic for days 2,3,27, so please dont request those. Other than that, feel free to comment a kink and a pairing, though I may refuse to do it if I simply don't know enough about the characters/continuity or someone already snagged the day! Request either here/or twitter.
> 
> This ch was abnormally long! I'm meaning to keep the other chs around 1k in length, so dont expect something super girthy, as a heads up!
> 
> https://twitter.com/newbandnamethx/status/1310968286973173764


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